Agreements of Old
by Narya of the Fire
Summary: In order to strengthen the bonds between Rohan and Gondor, an agreement is made for the first born woman in Rohan to wed one of the heirs of Gondor when she comes of age. Full Summary Inside.
1. Default Chapter

Don't yell at me, the idea came to my head and WOULD NOT LEAVE! Eowyn and Faramir are my favorite couple in all Tolkien lore. But I began reading a really good AU fan fiction of them…and the idea of writing one myself would not leave my head. I hate it when that happens. In any case, here is the first chapter.

**Disclaimer: **All is property to J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit is being made. Accuse me of stealing it and I will curse you of images of Denethor in a thong that will forever plague your dreams till the end of eternity.

**Notes:** This is based purely on the books. Faramir is twelve years older than Eowyn. Do the math yourself. Their years of birth are 2995 and 2983. When this starts out, Eowyn is 19 and Faramir is 31. Also, the books do not delve too deep into Theodred's character, so I made my own interpretation of him from what little information is given in the books. Finally, Boromir is not, as the movies and most fans see him as, a self-centered S.O.B. that was only in the presence of the Ring that he acted like that. So he is not that way in my story.

**Summary: **In order to strengthen the bonds between Rohan and Gondor, an agreement is made for the first born woman in Rohan to wed one of the heirs of Gondor when she comes of age. With just one year until her coming of age ceremony, Eowyn is informed of the agreement and she is forced into courtship with the Sons of Gondor, a kingdom she has been taught to hate since her date of birth. AU, Eowyn/Faramir.

**Chapter 1: **An Arrangement of Old.

Enjoy

VIVXXVIV

Rain poured down in heavy sheets and bombarded the small fleet of riders across the vast fields of Rohan in the West Emnet. The ground was sodden and slick from all the water and the horsemen upon their mounts grew irritable for they could not possibly find their destination in such weather. The wind stung at their beaten faces as they removed their helmets. "We must be close for we just now crossed into the West Emnet. Edoras cannot be far away," said a deep male voice.

"Indeed we have crossed into their borders, but without proper lighting the Golden Hall could be two inches before our very eyes and not see it!" came another exhausted voice. A loud boom of thunder rolled overhead and the sky suddenly became bright with a strike of lightning. But the hardened soldiers did not flinch; their many years of training had drained all feelings of fright in a storm out of their system. "We must proceed, for remaining in this ghastly weather would mean suicide," the second voice said again. "If we continue in the same direction, we are bound to reach Edoras within the hour. If not, we wait for dawn's light to illuminate the lands and our bearings resume".

"He is right, we must ride forth," another voice, also male, agreed. At that, the half a dozen riders set off again, riding in the direction against the howling wind. Within a few minutes, the horses were panting with fatigue but heeded their rider's orders to press onward. The dark veil of night prevented any good light, and the heavy sheet of rain only increased, worsening their situation. But despite all the poor conditions and seemingly evil weather, the riders went forward.

Their pace soon fell short as one rider's horse collapsed from exhaustion. The magnificent animal dropped in its tracks, barricading his rider under him. "Beregond!" one his companions cried out. The remaining five riders dismounted and went forth to aid their companion. Several minutes later with a fair amount of 'heaves' and 'hoes' the rider of Gondor was pulled from his steed's mighty weight and had doubled up on another man's horse. "That was too close for comfort. The sooner we are out of this storm the better," Beregond announced. No help could be given to his mount, which was left in the storm. A frown of grief was littered across the tower guard's visage but was not visible in the rain that continued to pelt them. Minus a horse, the company speed continued to dwindle. Soon all of the mounts showed signs of severe fatigue and threatened to collapse.

Yet still, they pressed forward. For another half an hour they trudged their beaten beasts through the wed muddy ground and braved the ever-increasing rain and wind. "What is that?" Beregond pointed out, for he was no longer preoccupied with steering his horse. His barely visible arm extended into the rain. The rest of the group had to squint, but clear enough was the vague outline of a horseman. "Who are you?" Beregond called out. The stranger was clearly not from Gondor, for he carried himself in an alien fashion on his mount. All six assumed he was one of the wild Rohirim of Gondor's tales. The half-a-dozen men ceased movement and waved their arms as the unknown figure drew closer.

"Be at ease, I come from Meduseld," the stranger said. His muscular form became slightly more visible as he ceased his mount. "You have been expected and anticipated. Although I am sorry to say, the weather has been against you. Come. Riders were sent hours ago looking for your lost company. Let your hearts relax, you are in the presence of friends," he said. Signaling to follow him, the riders from Gondor followed Rider from the Mark. A wave of relief washed over the six Gondorians, although at the time they figured it was the fresh beating of rain.

In just a few short minutes, the darkened outline of Edoras upon a giant plateau was seen. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the sky, allowing the six lost men to gaze upon the Rider on front of him. His form was tall and proud, with broad shoulders and dusky golden hair that fell to his shoulders. The faithful steed that carried him was a painted grey and white. As they came closer to the small city, more Riders of the Mark appeared and surrounded them from all corners, as if they were prisoners. The sharp incline of plateau was felt as they ventured up through the sodden mud and to the large pair of wooden gates that signaled the entry into Edoras. Another soldier came from up front and told the Gondor-natives to dismount and that their horses would be well cared for.

At that, they were led by a score of guards and soldiers, up into the Golden Hall. Upon entering, the soldiers bowed and left them. Gazing around at the grand looking throne Boromir said, "Father made it seem such as if those of the Mark were heathens and barbarians. How sorely he was mistaken, wouldn't you agree brother?"

"It is better to not let father hear your words of correction," Faramir responded at his brother darkly. Words of criticism were not taken lightly with the Steward of Gondor, most especially when they came from the mouth of the younger. Boromir could always get away with anything in their father's presence. A slight twang of envy pitted in Faramir's stomach but he quickly pushed it aside. Envy would get you nowhere, which was the cold and hardened lesson taught to Faramir by his father. Boromir let out a hardy laugh knowing the truth in his brother's words, but chose not to respond. The golden throne before them was empty and a loud silence crept into the large room. Faramir surveyed the beauty and grandeur of the room; it was trimmed with gold and green with great wooden pillars that outlined it, the head of a mighty stallion of Rohan topping each. The green and white banner of Rohan was strung from the ceiling, as was a silver-trimmed war horn. The Golden Hall of Meduseld contained a primal beauty that Minas Tirith hadn't the slightest trace of.

Several more minutes went by and no one appeared to greet the foreigners from Gondor. Impatient from all the waiting Boromir burst out, "Mayhap I spoke too soon. What impudence they possess to leave us in waiting, or they have simply forgotten our presence," he said with a deep scowl on his dark rugged features.

As if on queue, a small dark figure slinked into the room. He did not hold himself high or proud as the others of Rohan. Instead of long golden or red tendrils, the man possessed greasy unkempt jet black locks. His skin did not hold the healthy tan of the Riders, but a pale look, like that of a snake or worm that had been hiding in its underground home. "We humbly apologize for keeping our guests in waiting. Our mighty Théoden-King comes presently," the pale man said. Even his manor of walking was very much in sync with that of a worm. The SCREECH of doors was heard and the King of Rohan emerged. King Théoden was tall and proud, with broad shoulders and a strong build, '_much like that of Boromir'_, Faramir thought silently. But he was not the only one to emerge; following suite was sturdy golden haired Rider that had met up with them during the storm, dressed in Rohirim armor and mail. In the light one could see that his eyes were flint-colored in hue and sharp, not missing anything. Behind him was another young man, slightly smaller than the previous two and younger looking in years. His skin was dark and tanned in comparison to his pale yellow hair. He bore the royal insignia of Rohan on a long green mantle draped across his back. The last to emerge was a young woman, tall and fair, with long pale gold hair and a sad disposition in her face. Upon her head was a small golden headdress and she was clad in white. '_So this is the young woman we have been brought here to court,'_ Faramir mused to himself. Daring a glance at his brother, Faramir reckoned Boromir was thinking the same thing. The other four members of Gondor had stepped back behind the two brothers, signifying their lower position. '_I wish they would not do that,_' Faramir thought again; it always made him feel out of place.

The former and latter, both strikingly similar in appearance, went to either far side of the throne while Théoden-King took a seat, with the smaller man at his right. "We bid you welcome to the Riddermark," Théoden spoke. "This is my son, Theodred," he continued, pointing to person directly at his right. "And that is my sister-son, Eomer," Théoden pointed towards the rough looking solider, "Third Marshal of the Riddermark, and lead commander of the Rohirim. The last is sister-daughter Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan," the king finished, signaling at the sad looking woman at the far side of the throne.

"We thank you, sir Théoden-King. I am Boromir, first born to Lord Denethor: Steward of Gondor".

"And I am Faramir, second born to Lord Denethor," Faramir said. His eyes didn't leave the Lady Eowyn. Her eyes were icy and piercing, but with a looming despair that tore at her face. She was indeed beautiful, but so sad. Her head was bowed, but her eyes glanced up in a sorrowful defiance.

"What business brings you so hastily to the Golden Hall, from such a far distance and in such horrid weather?" Théoden questioned. "Your letter, or rather, the Lord Denethor's letter was of an urgent and insistent nature that this meeting take place. The continence of the letter spoke of building a stronger kinship between our two lands," the king said.

"Yes Milord. Our father has proposed a treaty between Gondor and Rohan. It is an opportunity for both of our nations to strengthen their armies. And in these dark times, strength is needed," Boromir spoke slowly. Faramir said nothing, knowing that it was elder's duty to make the proposal of treaty. He felt somewhat sorry for the woman in front of him that, if indeed the treaty was accepted by King Théoden, her fate would be to be wedding either himself or his elder brother; the latter of which was most likely.

"Ah yes, I understand. Such circumstances have been touched upon before in the past, but no action has been taken, deeming it unnecessary needed. Only in dire need would this alliance would be put forth into use," Théoden sullenly. A slight shadow was formed in his proud brow. "What circumstances are so troublesome that this _arrangement_ would be necessary?"

"Sir Théoden-King, our spies have reported that the flames of Mount Doom have indeed been rekindled. Strength and strong bonds will be needed on all fronts. It is my father's wish that this treaty be enacted immediately," Boromir said. His tone had changed from confident to slightly more reserve. He shared his brother's sentiments. Neither one wanted to be bound by the rules of marriage but be free, or as free as they could deem, to live out their lives.

"My Lord," said Eomer for the first time. His eyes were sullen and dark. "Exactly what treaty are they proposing?" He looked positively dangerous with the dark shadow that flickered in his grey steel eyes. They locked with the two grey orbs that Faramir possessed. Faramir suddenly knew that he did not want Eomer, Third Marshal of the Riddermark as his foe.

Théoden paused, uncertain if he should answer Eomer's question. The King of the Golden Hall knew exactly what his reaction would be, and feared for the sake of the two young Gondorians in front of him. However, Eomer would find out sooner or later. Théoden rathered that it be sooner, so Eomer's anger would die sooner. Taking a deep breath, he said, "In the time or Erol an agreement was forged between our two great lands of Gondor and Rohan. It was agreed upon by both fronts only to be used in dire need, yet would strengthen the bonds and armies between both nations. It states that should a desperate situation occur, an alliance would be formed between Rohan and Gondor. An alliance that would include the marriage of the two current heirs of either side's throne," a loud silence took the room. Théoden continued, "should this happen both lands would be eternally bound in kinship, never to be broken. In the past this treaty was nearly enacted," by in the past, Théoden as well as everyone else in the room knew was the first War of the Ring, "but the enemies defeat came sooner than the set date of alliance, thus it was not put forth. Yet it is as valid a prospect then as it is now," he finished.

"It is not our wish, but the Steward's, that this matter be re-lit. We cannot refuse his order, "Faramir spoke up boldly. He noted the dark look and menacing glare on the faces of both Eomer and Theodred. The young man did not dare to allow his attentions be set upon Eowyn, whose eyes had gone wide with shock. The cold steel of Theodred's gaze softened a bit, but Eomer shot daggers into the six men before him.

"Such situations are not desperate enough to act upon this ancient agreement," Eomer spoke coldly. He looked upon his sister, knowing the shock she must have received. In her nineteen years of life Eowyn had taught herself to hide her emotions and only a blow of great magnitude could cause her eyes to become as round as the saucers the dogs drank from. He would not subject his beloved sister to the treatment of the hard handed Gondor Steward, nor his two sons. "And it cannot happen right now, no matter how dire the circumstance. She is not of age," Eomer said, defending his sister's honor. Hot anger boiled through his veins and Eomer ignored all attempts to quell its heat.

"Yes we understand that. It is that very reason why our father has sent us a year ahead of time just to propose this. It gives ample time for a wisely chosen decision to be reached," Boromir continued. He, unlike Faramir, braved Eomer's daggers and locked eyes with him. Turning once again to Théoden, Boromir continued, "It is the Lord Denethor's wish that you return to Minas Tirith with our company so that negotiations can be made," he finished.

"This is much to consider Boromir, son of Denethor. I will take three days council for my decision. You, and your company, are welcome to stay during those three days. Hama," Théoden said. A solider that neither Boromir nor Faramir had noticed, stepped out from behind them. His hair was red and he was clad in thick armor and mail. "Please show our guests to their quarters," the middle-aged soldier bowed and signaled for the six men to follow him down the wooden corridors.

The two brothers, and company, followed Hama to a set of three rooms. The grandest Boromir and Faramir claimed, while the others paired up two by two and settled themselves. A pair of beds was set on either side of the room, both same in size and with white linen sheets. Faramir thanked Hama and closed the door behind him. Seating himself on the bed, both brothers exchanged looks. "Leave it to father to come up with the most direct and indiscrete route," Faramir said.

"I must concur with you on that little brother. That soldier, Eomer, looked as if he could have sent aflame the Golden Hall," Boromir responded while removing his shined breastplate with the White Tree chiseled on it. Faramir did the same; there was no need to sport their armor during the night hours. Outside the rain could still be heard beating against the roof.

XIX

Meanwhile in the Golden Hall, Théoden sulked down at the floor. "Come let us take council," Théoden said. He rose from his throne and walked into the adjacent room. Following him was Theodred, Eomer, Hama, Gamling and several other soldiers. Before entering the darkened chamber, Eomer met his sister's sad gaze and told her with unspoken words that he would do everything in his power against the matter. Eowyn was not allowed in council for she was a woman, and held no official decisions. Once the throne room was completely empty, save for herself, Eowyn retired to her room. Once alone and the door securely locked Eowyn did something that she had not done since childhood; she cried deeply into the night and her pillow soon became to wet and sodden from her salty tears to sleep upon.

XIX

"It cannot be helped. You know father; he will not create bonds with any other nation unless in great need," Boromir said. "However I must admit, I am no fonder of this than you. And, apparently, neither is she," he added.

"I noticed. Her head was downcast the entire time nor was a single word spoken from her mouth," Faramir said.

"Her eyes were downcast? I didn't take notice. Or maybe you were smitten enough to notice," Boromir smirked, slapping his brother on the back.

"No, you just simply take no notice of your surroundings," Faramir retaliated.

"And I take it that is your Ranger instincts tell you that?" Boromir said with a laugh. "In any case, what think of this lady of Rohan? She is fair to look at,"

"Fair yes, but sad," Faramir replied. "Let us not dwell on this matter any longer," he said. With that he removed his heavy mail cover, revealing a simple black linen tunic. "It is best not to lose sleep over this matter. We will need our wits if indeed this dose take place, although I heavily doubt it. You said it yourself, Eomer will most likely object to the fullest extent of his power and even Théoden expressed slight disdain," Faramir said. With that, he blew out the candle that kept the room illuminated and fell asleep.

VXIXV

The following morning Eowyn awoke early. The sun had just begun to rise as the faint yellow glow on the horizon came up over the vast plains of the Mark (**a/n**: The Misty Mountains are to the West). She did not know what to make on the matter. Her whole entire life Eowyn had been risen to become independent and rule fair and just when Theodred was crowned King and her brother become Second Marshal. The issue of marriage had never been brought up, nor did she know much of the matter for her entire life she had been around men and not socialized with the few women of the court. Yet in an instant, it had all changed and it seemed almost imminent that she would wed, and to a foreigner from Gondor none-the-less. Even at Meduseld, rumors of the icy reign of Denethor ran amuck. She wanted no part of it at all. However a small flame of hope was kindle in her heart; she knew that her brother, who held great esteem with her uncle, would do everything in his power to prevent it. Even Theodred would not stand for forced courtship and marriage of his younger cousin.

She dressed in a silk evergreen gown with bell shaped sleeves trimmed in gold. Small thongs ran up the length from her elbow to shoulder which were also gold. It was summer in the Riddermark and the sun promised unyielding heat. Eowyn often woke early to enjoy the few precious minuets outside before the sun became to stressful. Because it had rained the previous eve, the weather promised to be even more treacherous with the added humidity. She slowly tip-toed through the halls and reached the gate to the outside. Expertly, Eowyn maneuvered the gates so as they made no noise as they opened. Unnoticed by all, Eowyn slipped outside into the cool morning breeze. Eowyn cherished her time outside on her own. It was one of the few moments that she could think openly with herself. Even in the small village that dwelt on the plateau before her, everyone was asleep. Quietly she walked down the stone steps and into the stables where the horses were kept. Walking towards the very back Eowyn found her favorite steed. It was a grey-blue stallion with milky white socks on all four legs. His name was Windrod and was a gift to Eowyn on her 15th birthday. She had raised him since he was a colt and became especially attached to him more so than any of the other horses in her uncle's house. Windrod was currently asleep, and Eowyn cooed him softly to awaken him. Gently she stroked his nose and spoke to him in the tongue of the Rohirim. Taking the saddle and blanket that was mounted to the wall, Eowyn prepared him for his usual morning ride. Windrod shook his mighty head in annoyance when Eowyn plunked the heavy saddle on his back, but soon made up for it as he nibbled on one of her long golden tendrils. Eowyn smiled at Windrod, he had been her best friend for four years, and only he could get away with eating at her long yellow hair. The supple leather bridle rang as it was drawn from the wall and maneuvered onto Windrod's head.

Before mounting her steed, Eowyn took a curious peep at the five horses that came from Gondor. All five had been stabled near the back and were munching on the sweet hey provided by the Rohirim. She marveled at their stature. All five were large bays with finely built and muscular bodies. Two were a deep brown in color, one chestnut, one was white speckled with small black hairs, and the last a blood red bay. She resisted the urge to pat them, knowing full well that the horses did not belong to her house and they were in a foul temperament from the previous night's journeys. Windrod snorted in jealousy as Eowyn awed at the other horses. Turing her attention back to him, Eowyn mounted him and rode out into the plains of the West Emnet.

She loved her morning rides. The weather was cool and content and the wind did not sting her pale face as she breezed past it. Eowyn did not ride in the fashion as most noble women did with both legs to the left of the horse. Instead she rode as any man did, with one leg on each side not caring for how it made her look in her current attire. There was no one around to criticize her actions. She started out at a slow trot, careful to avoid the houses on the downward decline out of Edoras. But once she had passed the gates, Eowyn kicked her heels into Windrod who neighed in excitement as he jolted off at a full gallop. The White Lady of Rohan had ridden horses her entirely and knew to keep her balance steady at full gallop despite the constant bouncing sensation. Her skills were said to rival that of her brother and cousin's. But Eowyn did not care for she was not competing against them in any contest, nor did her status as a woman allow.

After a few minutes of rapid galloping, Eowyn "woah'ed" Windrod to a steady pace. She rode until the sizable city of Edoras was nothing but a dark speck against the tall grasslands against the Misty Mountains. Knowing that she could not venture far without causing a stir, Eowyn began to make large circles around the plateau. The sense of freedom overwhelmed her and a grin from cheek to cheek had spread across her pale visage. Half an hour into her riding a strange sound caught Eowyn's ear and she halted Windrod, who snorted defiantly. She waited in place for several minutes before the sound came again. It was the sound of a distressed beast. Looking towards the sky Eowyn saw a small cloud of black vultures gathering a few paces away. Re-directing Windrod to the North, Eowyn followed the birds until she came upon dark discolored patch of grass. The vague outline of Edoras was still visible and Eowyn dared a few more paces forward. Again, the creature that was lying in the tall grass cried again. At a closer inspection Eowyn was shocked to find that the creature was a horse. Three of the large birds of prey had landed upon the poor beast that was crying in agony. Eowyn charged Windrod forth to frighten away the black creatures. Her plan worked as they scattered to the four winds, but still hovered above the horse just in case a free meal was at hand. She dismounted and went up to the pitiful creature. Too exhausted even to stand, the horse had a broken forefoot and was breathing heavily. A saddle and bridle was still attached. She made note of the crest of Gondor that was sewn upon good quality leather that wrought the saddle. Slowly and with much caution she approached the animal. Feral instincts of survival were coursing through the horses head, as Eowyn well knew, and would most likely perceive her as a threat. The animal snorted at her as a warning to keep back. In response, Windrod made a strange sound, almost like a low frequency growl, and the horse that was sprawled about the ground softened. Eowyn continued her steady approach. She judged that he had been there at least all night. Careful to avoid his back legs, Eowyn cooed the horse in her native language as she maneuvered around to his neck and stroked it softly. There was a strong chance that injured and fatigued animal would live on if he got the care needed. While still chanting to the horse in her tongue, Eowyn fingered with the buckle that strapped the saddle to its back. Slowly she managed to release the belt and the heavy thing fell limp allowing for the horse to breath easier. Just at a mere glance Eowyn knew that there was no chance of the poor broken animal to stand on its own much less make the ride back to Edoras where it could be nursed to health.

Taking note of the landscape around her, Eowyn remounted Windrod and galloped back to Edoras as fast as her steed could manage. If she hurried, she could help the poor beast before the vultures decided to come back. Again she slowed Windrod as he entered the small village and met the sharp incline of the plateau. Around an hour had passed since her leaving and Eowyn reckoned that at least her brother had awakened, as he normally did. Her suspicions were confirmed as she saw Eomer riding out, most likely in search for her. She slowed Windrod to a halt as her brother approached, "Come Eowyn. Our uncle grows impatient with your leave of absence," he said sternly. "Our guests wait".

"And wait they will. While riding I found an injured horse. He is alive, but only just. There is chance to save him," Eowyn said. "The saddle bears the insignia of Gondor, so I assume it belongs to one of _them_, "she added harshly. But she had said the magic words and her brother's face softened. Eowyn knew her brother cared no more for the visitors from Gondor than she, and would jump at the opportunity to keep them in waiting. "Look now;" she pointed to the growing black cloud, "the vultures are already after him".

Eomer grinned. "Yes, they can wait. And it would explain why there are six in their company yet only five mounts were stabled. Where are they?"

Eowyn led her brother out to the broken animal. His expert skill allowed him to make a temporary sling to aid the creature's broken limb. Together they managed to talk the injured beast to its feet. Eomer tied extended reigns of the horses' bridle to his light brown mount, and slowly they led it back to safety.

VXIXV

"I apologize for Eomer and Eowyn's absence," Theodred said to his guests, all of whom were sitting around a large wooden table enjoying their fresh breakfast of salted meat, bread, and water. "It is not in their nature to keep our guests waiting like this," Theodred said, but sounded as if he was trying more to convince himself than the six men from Gondor.

"For all our luck, they most likely rod off together in protest," Boromir mumbled to his brother who smiled at the remark. Faramir privately agreed. For all the ill-tempered glanced Eomer had given him the previous night, he did not put it past him.

"Have they returned yet?" came the vexed voice of Théoden. "Or should I send out additional riders?" he scowled.

"No My Lord, that will not be necessary," Eomer spoke boldly as he entered the room, with Eowyn in tread. Both took a silent seat at the table and Eowyn poured water for herself and brother. A smile was glazed on both their faces.

"What kept you? Surely you did not ride so far out that you became lost," Théoden said with hints of annoyance in his voice. The question was directed at Eowyn who raised her blue eyes to meet her uncle's angry gaze.

"I am sorry my Lord to have kept you in waiting," she apologized. Faramir was slightly surprised how gentle sounding her voice was; it was as soft as babbling brook that sweeps past the smooth rocks in spring. But he kept his thoughts to himself and exchanged glances with his brother.

"You have not answered my question. What kept you," Théoden persisted.

Eowyn paused. She knew that she would get into trouble with her uncle for riding out alone so early in the morning. However the consequences for not answering would be even more severe and she answered, "While riding-"

"On your own?" Théoden said.

"Yes," she replied. Faramir was slightly shocked that a woman would ride out by herself. In Gondor it was rare enough that a woman even knew how to ride a horse, much less ride out of the city walls alone with no protection. On the other hand he liked that in Eowyn; it showed her independence and pride to be by herself. Boromir chocked slightly on his bread but managed to turn it into a cough when Faramir jabbed him in the ribs. With no response from her uncle, Eowyn went on, "while riding I found a half-dead and injured horse lying in the fields. However it was alive and had a chance of living if the poor creature received some help. Also, on the saddle it bore the crest of Gondor, and I assumed it might belong to one of our guests since six arrived and only five mounts were accounted for," she said, using what her brother said to her advantage. "I was riding back for aid when I met with my brother, who aided me in bringing the half-dead animal back to the stables. I am sorry to have kept you waiting," Eowyn apologized again to her uncle as well as to the men from Gondor. She kept her head low and bowed it slightly.

Not wanting to make a mockery of himself and the kingdom of Rohan in front of Gondor, King Théoden said nothing and sat down at the head of the table and ate his meal in silence. _'Perhaps I made a mistake in deciding to attend to Minas Tirith and see these dire circumstances for myself,'_ he thought in silence.

ZXIXVXIXZ

END CHAPTER…

I rather like it. It turned out really well for a first chapter.

I hope you all like it.

Please R&R. Reviews make more chapters come out faster, hint hint -


	2. Pleasant Introductions

Yay! Its chapter two! I hope you enjoyed the first one. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS!

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Tolkien…blahhblahh…not mine…blahhblahh…no profit being made…blahhblahh.

**Warnings:** None in this chapter. Just some random and mindless fluff, if you need a warning for that type stuff. Actually I must pride myself on my improving ability to write fluff. I have gotten a lot better at it XD. And Boromir and Eomer get a little pissy at each other.

**Notes: **None really. Oh and Windrod is the fathering stallion to Windfola, the horse that bore Eowyn into battle on the Pelennor Fields. Just thought I would include that. The book never put a sire to Windfola so I just made one up XD. I must thank my friend Alice and my Aunt Jeanette for all their horse lingo. Thank you.

**Chapter Two: **Pleasant Introductions

Enjoy!

VIVIIXIIVX

For nearly another quarter of an hour, breakfast continued in silence. Faramir tried, although in vain, to quell the noise of his eating feeling as though it was as loud as the neigh of a dying horse. Boromir also held a look of unease on his rugged features. Both brothers could not wait until they were free of this duty set on them by their father. Faramir had a gut feeling that the treaty would not go forward as the Steward hoped; Théoden, Theodred, and Eomer all held looks of contempt, the latter especially, when they had first heard of Denethor's idea. The kingdom seemed very unwilling to part with its White Lady, but Faramir did not much blame them. Were the situations reversed Denethor would share the same sentiment, unless the power promised was great enough to crush even Dark Lord. Faramir very much doubted that the allegiance, if formed, would produce any real fruit. But the second son did not deny that Eowyn was indeed beautiful and lovely to look at. She seemed very foreign in his eyes, used to the dark blacks and browns from his native country, and did not carry herself in the same manor as the noblewomen of Gondor. Women of the Citadel were expected to be quiet and insignificant and hold themselves in reserve, whereas Eowyn held herself upward and proud and her eyes were bright with defiance. She was not delicate and meek as what women were required to be in Gondor, but hardened and brave; as Faramir had found out by the way she stood up to Théoden-King and held her eyes up even when her head was cast downward. He found her strangely provocative in the sense that she was so different than anything Faramir had ever seen.

Eowyn stood up, bowed her head, and left after a few more minuets of silence. Her movements were fluid and graceful, yet sad and sorrowful. He pitied her and the fate that might come to be. Eomer soon followed his sister, but made a quick but clearly cold gaze at Boromir and Faramir. Faramir's thoughts drifted to the conversation that had taken place just half an hour before Eomer had left in search of the Lady Eowyn.

(_Flashback)…_

_Faramir and Boromir had just risen for a night of poor sleep. The storm had continued to pound the well-thatched roof all though the eve and thunder refused to relent its loud boom in the sky. Twice they had both made attempts to salvage what little hours of sleep that was left, but both times it was in vain. With a sigh, both brothers began to pull on their clothes. There was no real need to dress formally or in armor, so Faramir chose a pair of leather pants and a long velvet shirt with finely stitched silver embroidery. Around his shoulders Faramir took a simple dark cloak, so as to blend with everything else he wore, and caped it around his smaller form. He pulled on a pair of supple stag leather boots and sighed. It was going to be a long day; he knew that just from the gloomy overcast sky that loomed just out the window. A knock at the door brought Faramir out of his trance. "Come in," he said, thinking it was Beregond or one of the other tower guards. _

_When the door swung open violently, Faramir was about to say something but when he saw the towering form of Eomer in the door frame he kept his tongue. Already he wore thick armor and a deep scowl. "King Théoden requests your presence at breakfast," Eomer said simply. _

"_Thank you, Eomer son of Eomund," Boromir replied before Faramir got a chance to open his mouth. "What news do you know of your King's decision?" Boromir inquired boldly with an equally cold look. _

"_Théoden-King will tell you of his choice when he deems it necessary. Although I must admit, please forgive the blunt nature of my tongue, but I find you quite bold to come to our kingdom and place this _**request **_on my sister's shoulders," Eomer replied. Faramir knew that he must have been waiting all night to say those words directly to their faces. He did not know that the pair, Eowyn and Eomer were members of kin, but he mentally hit himself for not realizing it sooner. They both shared the same surname and were very similar in appearance. _

"_I can assure you that the choice is not ours, but that of our father. We, like you, are bound by our duty," Boromir said with an equally dark shadow on his brow. _

"_Then the quest of your father is in vain, for it is as true the previous eve as it stands now, she is not of age," Eomer shot back with venom in his voice._

"_You dare to deem the noble ruler of Gondor foolish?" Boromir spat with anger, getting from his seat and locking eyes with Eomer. _

"_I do not call the Lord Denethor a fool, but this ideal of his a foolish move," Eomer said, not backing down, knowing full and well that he held the advantage over the foreign brothers. "Even if it were to happen, the treaty would not last any right amount of time. What men in Gondor desire for a woman is the exact opposite from how Eowyn has been brought to live," Eomer continued, trying to rip, tear and destroy any thoughts of his sister from Boromir and Faramir's minds. "I have visited your White City trice in my youth. You like your women subtle and silent, with eyes downcast in fear. Eowyn is not of that nature, nor will she bend her will to your ideals," Eomer finished. _

"_And I will repeat myself: we have no care for this, but it is our father's wish and will that this take place," Faramir said for the first time. _

"_Little brother, this is not your battle," Boromir said. Faramir chose not to reply, knowing it to be the wise decision. It then became clear that neither Boromir of Gondor nor Eomer of Rohan would listen to the medium of reason. A wave of pity came over Faramir at Eowyn of Rohan's fate. She was forced between two battle fronts, one of which she believed in, and the other which she would be forced to embrace. The second born son of the Steward said nothing and continued to watch the battle unfold between his brother and Eomer. "What Gondor requires of a woman is for her to know her place and be grateful she even has it…unlike this pathetic little country where a woman all a woman need be is a horse wrangler to survive," Boromir lashed out. Faramir knew instantly that his brother had gone too far, his pride had gotten the better of his mind. _

_Before anyone knew it, Eomer had drawn out a short sword and held it to Boromir's throat. A look of pure and utter contempt and anger pierced Eomer's grey eyes which had irrupted in a storm. "May this serve as a warning: Your right is not to impugn my honor, my sister's honor, or the honor of the Mark. Should your tongue fly again with foolish words and unintelligent sentiments I shall not hesitate to separate your foolhardy visage from your shoulders," Eomer growled. Not really knowing he had, but Faramir had gotten to his feet from the shock of the situation. At the sound of footsteps, Eomer quickly sheathed his steel and turned to the door. Theodred stood in the frame with a sullen look on his face. _

"_Please pardon my intrusion," Theodred said to Boromir and Faramir but then turned to Eomer. "Cousin, it looks as if Eowyn has disappeared again," Theodred said. "Her stallion is gone and no one has seen hide nor hair of her or Windrod," a small sly of a smile was seen playing upon Eomer's lips, but he hid it as soon as it came away. "What shall I tell my father?" _

"_I'll be out fetching her presently," Eomer said, leaving the room and heading out towards the stables. Theodred did not move but sent the two brothers a gentle smile._

"_Please do not let his foul mood rotten your stay here. Eomer is only looking out for his sister's sake. He is proud and it cannot be contained. You would have to be a fool to insult it. Please excuse his behavior," Theodred said. _

"_Why is he so protective of her and himself? Dose he have any other object or event to hold his attention?" Faramir inquired. _

"_He dose it for Eowyn. They lost their mother when both were naught but children…however" Theodred paused, giving his speech a slightly dramatic effect, "you would do wise not to insult our Shieldmaiden. She may look fair, but her nature is proud just like her brother. Her demeanor may seem cold, but she feels as do we all. When insulted, you will not have only the Third Marshal to contend with…her cold iron has taken out even the mightiest of Rohirim in the sword ring, including mine and Eomer's," Theodred warned in dramatic humor. With a smile he said, "Come, I'll show you to the dining hall"_

_(End Flashback) _**A/N: **Told you Boromir would get pissy at Eomer, and vice versa.

Faramir exited the Golden Hall, tired of the silence that loomed heavily. Outside the dreary sky had cleared up and the sun shone through the clouds and upon Edoras. A few grey clouds remained, but none presented any threat of rain. In the sky a great bird glided overhead. He relished the soft wind that began to blow and his black locks were sprawled around his face. Faramir sighed; he had not meant to start all this trouble with the kingdom of Rohan. It was his father's vain ambition in hopes of more power. Faramir shuddered at the thought of his father. Denethor had pulled Faramir out of Ithilien right in the midst of trouble in the order of Rangers to send him on a mission of political power and greed. A frown came upon Faramir's face. Although Denethor was indeed his father, Faramir knew that he was not a fit ruler or King. It would not have surprised him if Denethor had falsely written the agreement just to trick Rohan into a poorer position of power.

He glanced at the flag of Rohan swaying in the wind. It was such a more complex design than the crest of Gondor, which was simply a white tree with seven stars encircling it. The white body of the warhorse was outlined in gold which was surrounded by a sea of evergreen. Again his attention was taken from his thoughts and Faramir concentrated on the sturdy form of Eomer coming up the stone steps into the hall of Meduseld. Instead of his usual dark glances, Eomer acted as if Faramir was nothing but an illusionary figure jesting in the wind. "My Lord, Eomer, Third Marshal of the Mark," Faramir began with the utmost respect in his voice.

Eomer stopped in his tracks and acknowledge Faramir with an un-deciphered expression. The solider said nothing in response but instead nodded his mighty mane of golden curls.

"I wish to apologize for my brother," Faramir said simply. He knew that placing more weight on the subject would only cause Eomer to become once again enraged. Faramir bowed his head and smiled warmly in reason at Eomer. Eomer continued to say nothing but lowered his head in acceptance. "If I may, can I place a request?" Faramir said.

"Name it," Eomer replied bluntly. Faramir was not so hard spoken as Boromir, or as arrogant. Eomer liked him better, and did his best not to mix his rage at the first born son with that of the second born. But he was not succeeding as hard as he was trying.

"Will you show me to the steed that you and your sister found on the plains this morn?" Faramir asked. Beregond had inquired about its well being, but had not received an answer from the servants he questioned.

"This way," Eomer said simply. Turning his heel, Eomer pointed Faramir in the direction of the stables. Faramir thanked Eomer and ventured inside. The interior of the stables were much superior to those of Gondor. The Rohirim treated their horses better than their people! Or at least, that is how it looked in Faramir's eyes. The wood that constructed the stable was hardened pine that had clearly tended well over the years. Not a speck of rot could be seen. Instead of the usual smell of sweat and fescues from the stalls, the fragrant smell of sweet hey lingered in the air. On the wall across from each steed was its saddle, bridle, riding blanket and other trinkets for riding. In the back, the brown snout of the missing mount was seen sticking out. Faramir went to the back and gently stroked his head. His fore hoof was slinged closely against his body, yet his balance remained firm. While silently thanking the force that had spared the horse's life a Rider entered the stables. He was tall with grizzled auburn hair and fuzzy whiskers dotted his face and chin. Across his right eye was a large battle scar that had been scraped across his weathered face. The eye was white and glazed in comparison to the other which was green and inviting. "Welcome," the stranger said. "I trust you find your stay at Edoras enjoyable?"

"Yes, I give you and your king much thanks for the hospitality you have bestowed upon Gondor," Faramir thanked.

"There is no need for such big words and fancy talk among our ranks. Though Rohirim we be by title, ordinary men we are by nature," the man laughed while unlocking the hatch of a dark brown mare with a star upon her snout. "I am Hamal. This is my trusty mount Firefoot," he said pointing to the brilliant horse that shook her wild black mane as if knowing she was being addressed. "She is as fast and hardy as any stallion that ever there was," Hamal said with glowing pride. "A lucky animal if ever there was one," Hamal pointed to the horse in Faramir's arms. "That beast braved that storm and prevailed where most would have fallen. As fine as any mount of Rohan," Hamal praised. Faramir laughed. Beregond would be pleased to hear of the compliments bestowed upon his horse. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a grey-blue stallion. The creature was magnificent looking. Hamal took notice of Faramir's interest, "Oh you would not be wanting to mucking with that fellow," Hamal laughed. "Windrod is his name, and true to it, you will find no faster a gelding in all of Rohan. However you will never find such an untamable gelding either. The Lady Eowyn's he is. And he refuses to bear any other rider save for her. He even bucked Eomer and Theodred to the ground for attempting to ride him," Hamal said.

"She must be quite skilled to tame a horse like that," Faramir said. He may have seen Eowyn at glances, but he had not the chance to speak with her and knew little other than what he had been told, and warned, by others.

"I disarray our Prince has already warned you, but you will find no better rider among our ranks. She can out race many of the Rohirim on a whim. Only Lord Eomer and Prince Theodred are superior to her skill. And I daresay, they are not her superior but equal. And in any case, she did not tame him," Hamal pointed to Windrod, whose ears had gone up, "It is my reckoning that Windrod tamed her. It is a special bond between horse and rider, or that is the foolish beliefs of the Rohirim," Hamal finished. Like an expert, he plunked the saddle onto Firefoot's back and bridled her head. "Now Lord Faramir, please excuse me. Already the wolves will have my hide for being late". Hamal sharply kicked his heels into Firefoot, who in turn, reared her mighty body and dashed out of the stables leaving Faramir alone with his thoughts.

After a few, but seemingly long minutes, Faramir turned to leave. As he began walking towards the exit of the stables another figure came in. Faramir stopped, and moved to the side allowing the person coming in the right of way. The footsteps became much softer as they approached and Faramir was surprised to find Eowyn brushing past his side. She glanced at him quickly but adverted her eyes ahead and then to Windrod. A strange sort of warmth seemed to radiate from her. Instead of the cold and sorrowful woman he had seen in the halls of Meduseld, she was fair and radiant when in the barn; an oxymoron of sorts considering her surrounding. "My Lady," Faramir began. She looked up and regarded his presence with a blank expression. _Very much like her brother, _Faramir thought. "I must thank you for the kind deed you bestowed upon us this morning," Faramir said, nodding his head in the direction of the horse near the back. "Beregond will be most pleased now that he will no longer be doubling up with my brother," Faramir joked with a smile. He saw a flicker of a smile play upon Eowyn's pale features. It gave him a strange sense of satisfaction that he caused the cold lady of Rohan to smile at his poor sense of humor.

"You, as well as your company, are welcome. But it was not so much a deed for you, but for your horse. He is a fine beast. I just have trouble accepting you left him out in the rain to fend for himself," Eowyn said, but with a slight warmth. She continued stroking Windrod and kept her head facing forward.

"If there is any way that I can repay your kindness name it," Faramir said. He didn't know why, but he felt obligated to repay her kindness. Faramir supposed that it was to be attributed to his training and life as a Ranger in Ithilien.

Eowyn felt a slight pang of unease in his presence but it fell away soon at his kind words. His demeanor was soft-spoken unlike that of his loud brother. Eomer had told her of their fight and of his very obvious disgust towards him. However, he said very little of the second son. Eowyn was slightly confused because she had always been taught to believe that Gondor was a horrid nation that showed no mercy and their steward, the iron handed Denethor, and had abandoned Gondor after sending calls for aid. Either Faramir was putting on a very good charade, or he was a living contradiction to his nation.

Théoden had banned Eowyn from riding out of city walls alone shortly after her return to the Golden Hall. Once Boromir and Faramir were considered to be safely out of earshot, the king of Rohan had burst into a long speech as to why she was not to leave the city walls alone ever again without the escort of either himself, Eomer, Theodred or at least six Rohirim at all present times. Eowyn scowled at the memory of his speech but said nothing. That was the thanks she got for saving the Gondorian horse? She kept her face neutral when she left the Hall. Yet when she was away from prying eyes, Eowyn had kicked the nearest object she could find, which happened to be the helmet of one of the Gondorians, and made a face of disgust. She had immediately gone down to the stables and was in the state of mind to ride out again, just to spite Théoden's orders. Her time alone to ride and her horse were the only true friends she had, save for her brother, but Eomer was always away at war or foreign treaties. After watching Hamal ride out freely from the gates, it did nothing more but encourage her rebellion. It had been many years since she had shown this much emotion, and Eowyn did not like it. She knew that once she was out alone in the tall grasslands she would feel once again at peace. However her intentions were shot down when she saw Faramir in the stables. Surely if she rode out, Faramir would see and inform either her uncle or brother, or then in turn, would tell Théoden. She had not expected such kind words from Faramir and was taken aback by his warm face. An idea then struck her: "Please excuse me for being so bold but," she began.

"Yes?" Faramir said.

"Would you ride out with me?" Eowyn thanked the dark silhouette that the stable provided for she could feel the slight burn upon her checks as blood rushed to them. She knew how foolish and immature she sounded to the Gondor Prince, yet it was her only way to get in another ride. By going she would not be alone.

Faramir was slightly aback by her request. He had suspected her to say something along the lines of 'do not let this treaty be enacted' or something complex and nearly impossible in nature. She seemed to understand that there was nothing either himself, nor Boromir, could do against their father's wishes. That was a first for Faramir when it came to his experience with women. In Gondor, the women would either throw themselves at Faramir in service, or ask something utterly ridiculous or complex for their minds to comprehend. He had always dismissed them kindly and didn't blame them. It was all just a product of their upbringing and he could do nothing to change that. However Eowyn seemed very in tune with the way that royalty worked. He considered for a moment all the teasing he would endure from Boromir should he be caught '_Then I won't allow myself to be caught by prying eyes,'_ Faramir thought. "Yes My Lady. If that is all you ask, I will ride," Faramir smiled.

Eowyn didn't let her true relief show through her cold face, but she merely bowed her head in thanks. She watched Faramir go to the back of the stables and ready the blood red bay she had admired earlier. "That is a fine horse you have," Eowyn commented while she unlocked the hitch to Windrod's door and placed the saddle blanket across his back.

"Thank you My Lady," Faramir said. In truth, it was his brother's horse, but Boromir need not know that he would be borrowing him. His real mount was the chestnut stallion that had a sock on his left rear hoof. Boromir had always gotten the finer steeds and Faramir could not cover his envy. Their father would be furious if he knew the numerous times Faramir had borrowed Boromir's horses. Faramir had named this bay in particular Galad. Boromir never named his animals, but allowed Faramir to do so. He often named them after the old kings and Elves of old that Mithrandir had taught to him. Galad came from the mighty Gil-Galad. "Your steed is a fine one also. He is as fine as you would ever see in Gondor," Faramir complemented.

"I thank you My Lord," Eowyn said. She again was surprised at his kindness.

Within a few minutes, both horses were saddled and on their way out the gates of the Golden Hall of Meduseld. Eowyn rode ahead of Faramir, while he lingered behind and studied her riding. It was clear to the eye that she had had a great deal of experience and indeed, lived up to Hamal's word. Her form was tall and proud while on the back of Windrod. Eowyn's long golden hair flew back behind her in the wind that they were riding against. Faramir reckoned that she had the ability to outride even the top soldiers of Gondor and rangers of Ithilien. He would have to test that theory one day. By his best guess, Faramir figured that Théoden would at least ride to Edoras and hear his father's proposal, but not deem circumstances dire enough. He couldn't wait until this game was over and he could return to the wilderness of Ithilien and be among his friends who respected him for his skills and nature, not for his position and title. Faramir couldn't wait to see Mithrandir again, despite Denethor's cruel accusations about the wizard. Even Boromir bore a slight distrust of Mithrandir, but Faramir guessed that was just because of his uncanny nature that was similar to Lord Denethor.

The citizens of Edoras looked on in confusion as the maiden of Rohan and prince of Gondor rode out like they had been friends. Even the peasants threw Faramir looks of disgust. He couldn't help but wonder what they had been taught their entire lives to loath those of Gondor that extent. As they crossed the official gates to Edoras, the slightly crouched and dark figure of Grima Wormtongue was seen. He too, threw Faramir a look of disgust and bitterness. But behind his slimy looking eyes, Faramir caught a quick glance of something that was unknown to him. And then it went as quickly as it came.

After some minutes Eowyn slowed her horse to allow Faramir to catch up. When they met face to face Eowyn said, "Do you see that river yonder?" she questioned. Faramir squinted his eyes and indeed, the light blue shimmer of a river could be seen at a distance. It was the river Snowbourne, Faramir had traveled it once before. Faramir nodded and Eowyn continued, "I have been told by one of your soldiers that you possess skills worth of mark as a rider. Would you agree to a race to see who indeed is the better, the steeds of Rohan or Gondor's bays?" Eowyn mocked him slightly but in a respectful manor, so as not to make situations even worse.

Faramir smirked. If it was a race that this proud maiden wished for, than it would be precisely a race she would receive. He knew that his skills as a Rider surpassed his brother, although he knew it wise to silence his tongue to the matter. He looked over at Eowyn who wore a smile on her fair face. Pride was plastered in her blue eyes, which seemed at least three hues lighter in the sun, or even the fact that she was on a horse. "I humbly accept your challenge," Faramir responded in as polite a manor he could muster. "And what should be the winner's prize?" Faramir said.

Eowyn thought for a second. She hadn't really intended there to be a prize. Eomer had always brought back tales of the Riders in Gondor and their skills, but she had always doubted him. None in all of Middle-Earth could ever match the cavalry of the Rohirim…her people and, in a way, herself. And now at her doorstep was someone who would be willing to test her theory. Eowyn figured that since she could not ride alone, that it would be best to make his presence useful. However she could not deny that he was handsome, even if he wasn't the golden and flame haired warrior of the Rohirim in tales she had grown up with. His hair was dark and ebony colored, a rarity that she had seen only once before as a child, and eyes of a warm grey that reminded Eowyn of her brother. He seemed very noble and honorable atop the blood red bay. She searched her mind for an answer to his question and then it hit her, "The prize shall not be in material, but simply an added ego to the winner. The race starts at the river and ends back at the gates of my city"

Faramir laughed. She was indeed a proud woman. He would indeed hate to crush her honor if he proved the victor. The pair rode their horses to the river and allowed them to drink the sweet water that ran southward. As a preparation, both competitors whispered in their native tongue to their animals. Windrod neighed proudly, as if understanding the situation. Galad did nothing, like he knew that wearing one's heart on their shoulder was an act of foolishness. The pair nodded in understanding to each other and Eowyn said, "Be on your mark," she paused for several moments of tense dramatic silence, "Forth!" she exclaimed and kicked her heels sharply into Windrod who in turn reared slightly and took off, being true to his name.

Faramir had anticipated the moment when the race would begin and charged at the same moment. The wind blew his dark hair and pelted his skin, but he was far too used to that to care. Eowyn was in front of him, though not by much. Again her style of riding had changed; instead of holding her shoulders up tall and proud, they were crouched over to the level of Windrod's head to allow for faster movement against the wind. Faramir did the same thing with Galad. Again he sharply kicked inward and Galad increased his speed. Within a few moments, Faramir found himself neck in neck with Eowyn. She looked at him; slight shock was in her face. She had obviously not expected him to catch up so quickly or to maintain her pace. The shock was soon replaced with determination as she looked forward again and said something in her native tongue. Faramir was not fluent in the language of the Rohirim and had trouble deciphering complex sentences.

The race continued at the same pace for the next few minutes. Both Eowyn and Faramir had determination sealed upon their visages, Windrod and Galad exchanged arrogant looks daring the other to advance. Slowly, Faramir managed to pull ahead and a sense of satisfaction raced through his blood. However, as Faramir would learn the hard way, Eowyn was not one to easily give up. She increased the pace of Windrod and swerved in front of Galad who in turn had to slow so as they would not collide. It was an ingenious move, but Faramir was surprised. It was quite clear that Eowyn was no fool and knew that if she did not do something, her pace would lag and she would fall behind. Messing with Galad's bearings would be the easiest path to victory. With a fresh wave of determination Faramir quickened his pace and again was Eowyn's equal…all the while the large wooden gates of Edoras drew closer.

- - - - - -

At the gates Eomer sat down and pondered his uncle's decision. He knew not what to make of it. It did not help his confusion when he saw Eowyn ride out with the second son of Denethor. Did she not realize that her future was hanging in the balance? Eomer scowled. Theodred was at his side and tried to give some comfort to his worried cousin. "Fret not, Eomer. Eowyn knows what she is doing. She seemed somewhat sullen after my father's punishment. My suspicion is that she is merely using his presence to her advantage," Theodred said with his brown eyes with mischief. Eomer laughed. That would not be out of his sister's character to do such a bold thing. However she was clever enough to disguise her true meanings. "And it looks as if he is giving her a challenge…one of the few men who can," Theodred finished.

Confused by his cousin's words, Eomer looked up to see his sister and Faramir dashing across the plains in a race. It was obvious to the eye that he was giving her a challenge for she had used her trademark swerve around him. It was a technique she used when she knew she would lose. A clever move by Eomer's standards. More than once had Eomer used her move during battle. He laughed as Faramir's pace slowed and Eowyn drew ahead. This race was hers, as they usual were. The proud Third Marshal did not really know what to make of Faramir. It became clear to him that his brother, Boromir, was roughly wrought with a tongue and ego of steel. He did not wish to see his sister with such a man. But Faramir was very different; he was much softer spoken and seemed to always think before he put his tongue to use.

Closer and closer they rode and began to slow when they reached the gates. Eomer guessed that was their finishing point, there would be no other reason for them to slow down and racing within the walls of Edoras would mean murder, whether it was yourself or an innocent bystander who got in the way of the horse's hooves. Eomer stood up to greet his sister in her victory. She had clearly reached the gates first, even though Faramir was naught but a few seconds inferior. But a few seconds was all it took. Eomer cheered Eowyn in her victory. A light of surprise was on Eowyn's face as she realized that both her brother and Theodred were there. "Well done sister! Once again your title has been kept and your reputation increased," Eomer laughed.

Eowyn smiled in victory in response. "But my opponent was worthy," she said to Faramir as a gesture of respect. Theodred laughed.

"Aye, very worthy," Theodred said. Truthfully the prince of Rohan did not feel that Faramir would even have made it after his cousin swerved in front of him. Her technique swayed even the best of the Rohirim.

Faramir said nothing, and bowed his head in defeat and prayed to Elbereth that Boromir had not witnessed their race. There was no doubt that his brother would lay it on thick over the fact that Faramir had lost to a woman. But she indeed was skillful and lived up to Hamal's description of reputation. He patted Galad who was sweating from the lengthy race. Eomer and Theodred were again talking among themselves and Eowyn had already ridden inside Edoras. Faramir followed after her, intending to reward Galad after his brilliant performance. Just as he was about to pass through the gates, Faramir's sharp ears caught a bit of Eomer and Theodred's conversation. "It looks like even the brash princes of Gondor had their uses to her". Faramir nearly fell of his horse. Why that woman! She had used him. Faramir looked the proud woman in front of him. Eowyn of Rohan indeed was a clever woman and Faramir finally realized what a strong character she was.

VXIXVXIXV

END CHAPTER 2! Well I think it got it out rather quickly, seeing as how I am intending to stick with longer chapters. I hate it how a chapter is so short that there is barely two paragraphs. Sorry that this took a bit longer to get out. But I hope I made up for it.

Please read and review. It makes me get out the next chapter much faster (hint hint)

ja ne

Narya

I have a quick question…what the bloody hell is a Mary-sue? Although I am not new to fanfiction, I have never seen the phrase before until I read the Lord of the Rings fanfiction here.


	3. Of Beren andNimodel!

And the insane one has returned for chapter 3!

I am sorry that this took a while to get out…I had a bit of trouble with and I could not upload. The same thing goes for my previous chapter.

Again, thank you for all of your reviews…they are so wonderful and encouraging.

**Disclaimer:** I OWN IT ALL! All of Hamal that is…the rest belongs to Tolkien. The two poems I use later on, they are also property of Tolkien.

**Notes: **Just usual, fluff, testosterone and pissy moods. I also hope that I am keeping Eowyn in character enough for you guys. I hate the stories where she is pictured as 'cold stone bitch' or 'bright and bubbly' which directly contradicts her character. Granted she dose become 'stone cold bitch' for a while, but that is only after Saruman has taken over Théoden and Theodred has died. Since this is an AU, she is bit more cheerful, but sad enough for most people to pity her. Also, the Aragorn factor comes in. In Rohan, Aragorn is known as Thorongil (just from memory, I am pretty sure it means golden light.)

**Chapter 3: **Of Nimrodel and Beren

(Strange sounding I know, but it will all make sense at the end of the chapter and before one person points this out…Luthien is the one that gives up her immortality for Beren, I KNOW, like I said it will all make sense at the end)

This chapter takes place two days after the last installment…

Enjoy

VXIXMXIXV

Eowyn scowled as she rode down the plains of Rohan. She wasn't alone either. Rage coursed through her veins, as did sadness flow in her blood. So this was to be her fate? To be forced to wed some over-spoiled, pampered prince of Gondor? She would not stand for it. Up a head Théoden-King rode atop of Snowmane, tall and proud he rode as if he valued the decision to force his only niece into courtship. Of course when Théoden had told her the news he assured her that it was just to meet with Lord Denethor and see the circumstances for himself. Eowyn knew better than to trust his word alone. It was only natural that her uncle and foster father would sweet coat the truth. Theodred, as well as her brother refused to look Eowyn in the face despite her dares. She refused to acknowledge anyone's presence, even her chamber maids, even as they packing for the three day ride. When asked what gowns she would wear for Minas Tirith, Eowyn did nothing but look out her window, and the maids packed a few gowns at random. The only way that she participated in preparations for the journey was by hiding a sword underneath her skirts. Many of the long flowing dresses in her wardrobe were perfect for concealing weapons due to the abundance of material. Both Eomer and Theodred double checked Windrod to make sure that Eowyn did not attempt to smuggle any weapons so as to give a proper impression in Gondor. She had to congratulate herself on her clever hiding place of her weapon. Even if Eomer found out, little could be done for he would not go looking up her skirts for a blade. Boromir and Faramir had wisely avoided her path since the announcement had been made previously that morning. It was in their better judgment, as Eowyn knew as well. There was no doubt in the young woman's mind that she would not hesitate to turn her fury and frustration on them.

Along with the six men from Gondor, her brother, Theodred, King Théoden, approximately a dozen Rohirim had also been summoned forth in the journey. Among then was Hamal; he was the one that Eowyn had originally coaxed into teaching her to ride and sword play. She liked Hamal very much and was one of the few men that she trusted. Hamal was currently riding to her right side atop Firefoot. Another Rider that Eowyn knew personally was Eothain. He was only three years her senior and Eowyn had spent long hours chucking large gobs of mud at Eothain for teasing her about being a girl. Eothain had a sister, Freya, which was one of her chamber maids. He was tall with dirty golden locks of hair that he never seemed to wash. Eothain's form was very broad as was his face, spotted by a young beard. The remaining ten Rohirrim Eowyn knew only by sight, and even a few by name, but she had never conversed with then. A scarce few she had raced, and easily beaten, but other than that she had no association with them. Luckily, Grima did not join them on this journey, much to Eowyn's relief. She never cared much for Wormtongue, and only accepted him as a member of her uncle's court.

A rider approached Eowyn but she turned her head in dismay when it turned out to be Beregond. She almost regretted saving his horse because all she had received in return was her future being thrown to the wind. A kind smile played upon Beregond's face, but Eowyn saw it only as a smirk of victory. "Thank you milady for giving aid to my steed," Beregond said, pointing to the bay he rode. Eowyn looked at him coldly and shouted "HYA" at Windrod who rode ahead. She refused to look them, any of them, in the face. While racing ahead, she hastily wiped away the lone tear that fell down her pall check. The great Shieldmaiden of Rohan was crying. Eowyn laughed in spite of herself and allowed the wind to blow her pale golden tendrils across her sad face so as to hide it.

Back behind her, Beregond sported a look of confusion. Boromir came up to his side and Beregond said, "I meant only to thank her kindness".

Boromir snorted. "Women are fickle, leave them be to their own matters".

"And if their matters should become yours Milord?" Beregond questioned.

"I would laugh and return to my duties, which do not lie in a woman's weak and feeble, easily broken grasp!" Boromir bragged. In truth, Boromir loathed the very thought of being betrothed to a woman when his duties of battle always came first. A worrying woman would do no one any good and wouldn't bring about peace. In fact, Boromir figured they would bring only more chaos.

"Yes brother, tell that to father and for once his wrath shall be upon you and I shall have a much needed break," Faramir said as he pulled up beside Beregond, who laughed at his joke. Faramir saw his brother sulk at the truth of his words. Denethor would only take compliance and loyalty. Anything below that was as equal as treason to the enemy Eye of Sauron himself.

"Oh I fret not. The way I see matters is father would engage her to you," Boromir scoffed regaining his tongue. "That way manors of war would be left to me, and matters of dull politics would be left at your hands and away from Mithrandir," he joked, but knew the bitter acid truth behind them. However he hit his brother on the back in a kinship like manor, showing that he meant no real harm.

"I don't like it," Faramir said simply.

"It never matters to father whether or not we like his ruling, just as long as we heed it," Boromir said. Beregond had gone silent, knowing that this was not his conversation, but that of his two princes.

"I don't mean that, although there is nothing but truth to your words," Faramir paused and scowled, "What I mean was this whole business of arranged marriage, father dumping it on our shoulders without neither our consent nor hers," he pointed to the proud and sad woman ahead, "it doesn't stand well with me…" Faramir trailed on.

"Nor I, but we cannot defy father. He will not tolerate insolence, you know that as well as I," Boromir replied softly to his brother being entirely true. But hey, the truth always hurt and it never gave mercy.

For hours on end the small company rode. The pace seemed monotonous and endless. Eowyn almost felt that she would n ever reach Minas Tirith. A secret part of her wanted to see Minas Tirith first hand. Eomer had brought home all sorts of intriguing stories of glittering marble White City. She had always imaged that it was full of noble men and women of great respect. According to her brother, the soldiers of Gondor were men to be reckoned with and many were equal to that of their notorious reputation. Reputation most often preceded the truth, and Eowyn no longer trusted reputation. She only relied on her own wit and judgment, as well as that of her brother and, though much rarer, that of Theodred and her uncle. But she preferred seeing everything with her own eyes instead of taking another's word for it. Windrod seemed to be enjoying all of his extra time out of the cramped stables. More than once, Eowyn had to suppress the urge just to dash off ahead of the group, but after doing so there was no guarantee that she would have moved even in the correct direction.

So she just continued to ride on at the same pace all day. Twice the group stopped to allow the horses to feed and drink from the occasional river or small stream that dotted the endless fields of long golden grass. As dusk began to fall, Théoden called a halt to everyone and barked out orders to start pitching camp. Eowyn would be sharing a small tent with her brother much to her dismay. One of her chamber maids insisted that her brother be with her at all times in case one of the Gondorians should get a foul inclination in his mind. The sibling's tent was the first to go up because it was smaller and had the help of a pair of sturdy hands whereas even Theodred would be sleeping on his own. Hamal and Eothain were sent to collect water and, if opportunity presented itself, food preferably conies. While watching the others build their tents Eowyn let her eyes linger on the camp of Faramir. He was indeed a very strange and different man. Faramir was very soft spoken and well taught to use his mind, and not rely totally on brawn alone. Eowyn admired that quality of Faramir; it was something that many men of Rohan had yet to learn and master. She supposed that if the treaty were to happen that she would not mind so much to be betrothed to second son. '_But that will not happen as long as I have a say in it,'_ she silently vowed. Eowyn knew just by a first glance and by the manor he wore his heart proudly against his shimmering armor that being forced into courtship to Boromir would be the very worst circumstance. She abhorred his arrogant attitude. Boromir would no doubt argue that it was his pride that he was flaunting, but there was a fine line between arrogance and pride. Eowyn was very proud but she did not wear it for everyone to strike.

The cool evening breeze felt well against Eowyn's sweating form. The sun had been hot, blistering and unrelenting all day long. She wore one of her more coarse dresses for riding; it was brown wool and very hardy against weather, but subjected the rider to its insulation even in the hot midday sun. Eowyn pitied sheep for they wore a thick wool coat all year long until fully mature. No matter what the weather was they had to bear its burden and its intensity in summer. Shortly the rest of the camp was pitched and Eowyn decided to go for a short walk around the camp. It would be her first real opportunity to be alone with her collective thoughts. Making sure that she was well out of earshot from the rest of the camp she began to chant under her breath:

_An Elven-maiden there was of old,_

_A shining star by day:_

_Her mantle white was hemmed with gold, _

_Her shoes of silver grey. _

_A star was bound upon her brows,_

_A light was on her hair_

_As sun upon the golden boughs_

_In Lorien fair. _

_Her hair was long, her limbs were white,_

_And fair she was and free;_

_And in the wind she went as light_

_As leaf of linden-tree. _

_Beside the falls of Nimrodel,_

_By water clear and cool_

_Her voice as falling silver fell_

_Into the shining pool._

_Where now she wanders none can tell,_

_In sunlight or in shade;_

_For lost of your was Nimrodel_

_And in the mountains strayed. _

_The Elven-ship in haven grey_

_Beneath the mountain-lee_

_Awaited her for many a day_

_Beside the roaring sea. _

It was a tale told to her in her youth by an old man known only as Grayhame. As a child, Grayhame would visit Edoras often seeking council with her uncle. He often wore torn and weathered grey robes and a large pointed blue hat. His beard was long and grey as his name. Eowyn loved his frequent visits, though she could be no more than 8 years of age. The old man had taught her many an Elven songs and tunes. But as the years passed so did Grayhame. He had not visited in many years, although the legacy of his tunes still lingered in Eowyn's head. She would often sing them when alone or caught up in thought. The story of the fair Elf maiden Nimrodel had always been one of her favorites.

Unlike her sharp and intuitive character, Eowyn did not hear the steps behind her. It was not until a voice began to sing did she whirl around.

_A wind by night in Northern lands_

_Arose, and loud it cried,_

_And drove the ship from Elven-strands_

_Across the streaming tide. _

_When dawn came dim the land was lost,_

_The mountains sinking grey_

_Beyond the heaving waves that dosed_

_Their plumes of blinding spray. _

_Amroth beheld the fading shore_

_Now low beyond the swell, _

_And cursed the faithless ship that bore_

_Him far from Nimrodel. _

_Of old he was an Elven-king, _

_A lord of tree and glen,_

_When golden were the boughs in spring_

_In fair Lothlorien. _

_From helm to sea they saw him leap,_

_As arrow from the string,_

_And dive into the water deep,_

_As mew upon his wing. _

_The wind was in his flowing hair,_

_The foam about him shone;_

_Afar they saw him strong and fair_

_Go riding like a swan. _

_But from the West has come no word,_

_And on the Hither Shore_

_No tidings of Elven-folk have heard_

_Of Amroth evermore. _

Faramir had been following Eowyn the entire time. Out form the corner of his eye he saw the young woman trod off and he decided to follow her so that she did not make a foolish attempt to ride away. It was true that he did indeed pity the woman but Faramir still had his duty. He would never abandon it. Death would be a preferable fate to what his father would subject him to. Faramir would easily take death over pain and humiliation. It would come as a relief. On the positive side, Faramir did not expect the sad looking maiden of Rohan to know poems of Elvish lore. She had seemed so distanced from literature and the written world of music that Faramir thought her to be only of a man's hardship. When Eowyn had turned around to meet his grey eyes, her cerulean orbs widened in shock. It was clear that she thought herself completely alone. "Forgive me," Faramir said. "I did not mean to disturb you".

"It that is really the words of truth bouncing from your tongue then why did you speak forth," Eowyn asked bitterly as she folded her pale cream colored arms across her chest defensively. Did this woman trust anything or anyone?

"The tale of Nimrodel was one taught to me in my years of youth. I could not help but join in," Faramir said gently. The proud woman's face in front of him softened a bit, but she held herself in defense. He did not blame her actions. If he were forced into the same situation, Faramir would no doubt feel the same. "What other tales do you know of?" Faramir inquired in all earnest.

"Not many. For tunes of romance and tales of old ages long since passed do nothing to aid the present," Eowyn said; her eyes were blazing blue pools firing to the brim with pride.

"Please My Lady, do not get so defensive against my presence," Faramir continued. "It was not my wish that this burden be dumped upon you or your people. My wish is merely the same as yours," he said softly. He did not want to make enemies of the woman before him. She was so sad and proud. Yet from their experience the other day, Faramir knew that she was smart and wise. Hidden deep inside her soul was youth and sparkle that most women her age possessed. Faramir recognized it immediately from the moment he had seen her.

"If indeed our wish is the same, than what is it?" Eowyn inquired skeptically.

"Do not be so bold as to mistrust every word that is thrown at you…"-he paused for a moment, meeting her hard gaze and then continued-"Our wish is to be free: Free of the duty that restricts us and free of the responsibility dumped on our shoulders from birth without our consent," again a pregnant pause took the pair, "and to break lose of the cage that has captured our freewill," he finished.

Eowyn's eyes went wide. How could this arrogant man know all this? She did not know what to say. He spoke as the wise men of old, and the Elves she had read about.

"Speak, please, I beg of you. You have spent too many days in dark silence," Faramir pleaded.

More moments of silence took them before Eowyn slowly spoke, "Indeed, then, our wish is the same". A sad smile glazed her pale features. "You are the first to know my wish" she spoke. "Even my brother cannot see the truth in front of his eyes".

"Do not feel secluded in your worries. My brother," Faramir pointed to Boromir who was seated around a fire, "can only see the grave battles he wages against evil. He dose not understand my position".

"Then we are the same," Eowyn said as more of a sad statement than a question.

"Aye, fair lady, we are," Faramir said gloomily. The pair glanced down at the camp fire that was burning brightly. Around it sat Boromir, Eomer, Theodred, Beregond and Eothain.

"And what will happen to you if this marriage should happen," Eowyn cautiously asked.

Faramir sighed and said in a sullen voice. "There is one of two outcomes that would happen. My father shall appoint you to marry my brother who in turn, shall be the one to officially initiate the treaty at the day of the ceremony. I would return to Ithilien and to matters that greatly concern me but not my brother or father. However, the other choice would be you would be engaged to myself. Much the same process would happen in terms of the official treaty. Then my Boromir could continue his matters with our own borders, that are so forbiddingly close to the land of the enemy," Faramir grimly. Those were the only choices if the treaty should happen. Neither prospect was appealing, especially the latter. He did not wish to be burdened by political matters, but by those of moral. Politics was one of the many reasons why Denethor favored his first born to his second as Faramir well knew. He would have to be a fool not to know.

"Then let us pray that Théoden-king dose not see these circumstances as dire as Lord Denethor," Eowyn responded hopefully. "it would lead to a poor outcome on both fronts".

A great wave of compassion washed over Faramir at the Lady's words of truth. It was in that moment that the second son of the steward fully realized the Lady Eowyn's true radiance under the moonlight as it shined against her fair porcelain skin. In light of his sudden moment of realization Faramir began to strum with his tongue.

_The leaves were long, the grass was green,_

_The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,_

_And in the glade a light was seen _

_Of stars in shadow shimmering. _

_Tinuviel was dancing there_

_To music of a pipe unseen,_

_And light of stars was in her hair,_

_And in her raiment was glimmering. _

_There Beren came from mountains cold,_

_And lost he wandered under leaves,_

_And where the Elven-river rolled_

_He walked alone and sorrowing it._

_He peered between the hemlock-leaves_

_And saw in wonder flowers of gold_

_Upon her mantle and her sleeves,_

_And hair like the shadow flowing. _

Eowyn smiled. She knew that song well. It was the very first one taught to her by Grayhame. She had loved it as a child and believed in its message of undying love, even past death. But as years came and went and left their shadow upon her soul, Eowyn thought the tale to be nothing but silly child's tales. Yet however, she felt oddly connected to the story and began to chant along in sync.

_Enchantment healed his weary feet_

_That over hills were doomed to roam;_

_And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,_

_Through woven woods of Elvenhome _

_She lightly fled on dancing feet,_

_And left him lonely still to roam_

_In the silent forest listening. _

_He heard there oft the flying sound_

_Of feet as light as linden-leaves_

_Or music welling underground,_

_In hidden hallows quavering. _

_Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,_

_And one by one with sighting sound_

_Whisper fell the beechen leaves_

_In the wintry woodland wavering. _

XIX

Eomer scowled at the bright dancing ember flame. To his right sat Theodred and Eothain. To his left Boromir and Beregond sat and watching the fire dance. "Do you in all seriousness, feel that this is necessary," Eomer questioned.

"Do you wish me to speak in earnest, or for my father?" Boromir said.

"Both," Eomer replied quickly and coldly. He wanted to know the truth of just how desperate things are for his sister to be betrothed. And if the very fate of Middle-Earth was on lying on it, Eomer still would object. Eowyn had a life and a right to live it to its fullest extent, and not be bounded to some spoiled swine of a half-defeated country.

"My thoughts are that a marriage can not solve anything, and brings nothing but restrictions and political unbalance. However my strategy is in war, not politics. You, I gather, are much the same. However, whatever news that reached my father's ear must have sparked his nerve. He believes in independence of the nation, not to be bound by the legion of another. My father, Lord Denethor, is a wise man and if such times are so desperate that he should brake his morale code than it must be dire," Boromir defended his father. But in truth he knew that he was lying. Denethor wanted power, and though treaties and agreements he would obtain partial power over their nation. That was one of reasons why Boromir knew that he favored him over Faramir. Boromir would defend and do anything for his nation and knew no bounds to his loyalty, whereas Faramir spent many years of his childhood, adolescence and young adult years of youth in Ithilien training among Rangers. Faramir wanted to be free of all confines including his royal birthright. Faramir was loyal only to his father, but not Gondor. "Then let me ask you a question," Boromir said.

"Proceed," Theodred said.

"What think you of this situation? Will your king agree?" Boromir asked. He silently hoped, as did his brother, that it would not go through. He would lose his warfare and Faramir would lose a large part of his freedom. It was being selfish of him, as Boromir well knew, but he could not help it.

"I should have thought that I made my position clear from the other day. I will not allow my sister, and only direct blood kin be handed over and forced into courtship. Whether it is from Gondor or the lands of the Elves for all I care, I will never support it. She will lose all her freedom and be forced into the shadow of some," Eomer paused and chose his words carefully, "noble too wrapped up in their own line of duty to care. Although I disarray, Eowyn would not stand for it either. She would run. Of that I have no doubt. Whether or not she lives in luxury on the back of a smelly steed matters not to her so long as she retains her freedom and pride," Eomer said. "As for King Théoden, I feel that his views on the matter are just the same as mine and his likely hood of accepting is slight. And now, I have another question for you; to whom she would be engaged with?" Eomer asked. If it indeed was Boromir, the arrogant swine in front of him Eomer would pack her fleeing horse himself.

"That I do not know. But instead of worrying yourself about my standing perhaps you should gaze yonder and see your real trouble," Boromir pointed at the couple that was walking back into camp. Their silhouettes were dim, but Boromir would know the tall shadow of his brother any day. At his side was the outline and curves that only a woman possessed, so it could be none other than the lady Eowyn.

Eomer, Théoden, as well as Eothain's eyes widened in shock. Coming over the small bluff and out of the tall grass was the form of Eowyn next to the second son of Gondor. Eomer's sharp ears caught the very faint sound of them chanting together an Elvish song that he had not heard Eowyn sing for many years since her childhood. What was she doing?

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END CHAPTER! I think we all know what Eowyn is doing XD! She's falling in love. Well, kinda.

I hope you all like this.

I must say right now, that there will be a bit of a break before the next chapter. I have finals coming up and then much more crap after that. I hope you liked this chapter.

Please read and review. Read+enjoying+reviewsthe next chapter coming out MUCH quicker. (Hint hint, nudge nudge)

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	4. Enter Thorongil

Yay! I'm back for chapter 4! Thank you so much for your absolutely 100 purely wonderful reviews. They really do mean so much to me and help me get off my lazy $$ (or arse) and continue writing.

Actually I have a question for you, the readers,…should I include some Eomer/Lothiriel? I haven't really decided to or not, what is your input? Please let me know in a review, or an e-mail. Or, if I happen to be online, Yahoo IM me (my screen name is on my bio)

**Disclaimer:** All is property to Tolkien, not mine! I own Hamal and Windrod, which is IT. Don't sue, although you won't be getting much anyway…just an ancient computer, a half-trashed video card, my lotR collection (which is pitifully small), and an expired $5 replay certificate to Suncoast.

**Notes/Warnings:** a wee bit of violence, don't like skip over it. Also Aragorn makes his first appearance in this chapter. If you have not read the books, you may not know all of his different names so here is a quick guide to his alias: Aragorn, Elessar, Estel, Thorongil, Strider, and Dunadan. I left a couple out, but those are the main ones you will need to know.

**AUTHOR'S APOLOGY: **My gosh, I am so absolutely 100 sorry this took so damn long to get out. I mean I am really sorry. I have just been up to my ass and I needed a bit of a break and now I am up to my arse again in work. I began writing this right before finals at school, so I was preoccupied with them, and then when finals were over I went with my dad for three weeks with no internet access, then to New York City for a leadership summit for nine days, then I had a nice 10 day break for Harry Potter 6 (which was wonderful) and now I am back in band camp. So yeah, I just have been out of time. And now I have the sunburn from hell on the back of my knees (which are starting to blister and peel) and my nose.

Enjoy this chapter…

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Near midday on the second day to Minas Tirith Eowyn was in a foul mood, treading across the plains in a very foul disposition. Not even Eomer dared to approach her, much less Theodred, Théoden or any of the Rohirim. She did not know the exact cause to her ill mood, but nor did she really care. Eowyn felt she had a right to be angry and upset, and by Valar, she would use it. A shadow loomed across her brow the entire day, and her mouth was in a thin line of irritation all day. She currently hated everything about everyone; how her brother always got the valor and she (much to her disdain) a sheer woman got nothing, Theodred's cheerful nature despite the current situation, the boldness of those Gondorian brats to come in and insinuate their 'orders' on everyone else, her uncle's lack of words at anything, Hamal's pleasant whistling, the off beat trot of Windrod, even the itchy wool dress she was forced to wear as it relentlessly assaulted her legs. Windrod too sensed his owner's short temper, and bad mood.

_If only I was back home, _she yearned. Eowyn knew that if she were back at Edoras, the normality of life would resume and she would be riding Windrod in pure bliss as the wind blew her long yellow tendrils. She would even endure the sight of Wormtongue if it meant she could return to the Riddermark. But alas, the sight of the banner baring the insignia of the White Tree held Eowyn firmly in reality.

Eowyn was truly dumfounded by her current situation. It was truly different than anything she had experienced before in her life. In all her years in Théoden's court, the issue of an arranged marriage, or being betrothed in general was never brought up, since it had never been an issue. Everyone had expected her to remain the cold Shieldmaiden of Rohan; it was a custom of Rohan that dated back, despite the fact that no one had bothered to write it down. Yet every generation of kings since the time of Errol there had been at least one unmarried woman in the House of Meduseld who met her death by the blade or at the beatings of a steeds hooves. Eowyn would have been more than proud to end her life in that manor, not some foreign spawn's meek little wife. In fact, that was the manor in which she had been brought up to live. She trained with her brother and cousin, fought with the men, and rode with the best of the Rohirim. Sitting like a quaint simple minded, silent and air-headed court lady was not her idea of a life. Life was meant to be free, to fly, to live—not to be the subject of a man's pride, duty, and ego.

Of course the White Lady of Rohan knew that her sibling and cousin would strive and test the very limits of their authority to keep her from being married off to Gondor, especially under the Lord Denethor's reign as Steward. She was well aware of the arguments made between Boromir and Eomer several days previous when Eomer had brought up the very valid point that she was not of age for the ceremony, or at least on Rohan's standards. A woman came of age at 20 winters, Eowyn had seen only 19 and in the middle of her 19th summer. She still had her final two seasons before any official ceremony could be held, permanently binding her to Gondor. Even Theodred had made it crystal clear that if it was necessary, he would take it upon himself to re-write agreement made by the House of Errol to Gondor. In that aspect Eowyn knew that she had the favoring hand, but couldn't help but ponder what would become of her future; thus adding to her already foul disposition that morning.

The previous evening, the second son of the Steward had caught her off guard; and it was a rare moment when Eowyn let her wall of protection loose. She scolded herself later that night for allowing it to fall, and in the presence of Gondor's younger Prince, the very cause of her disdain. Faramir may have known Elvish lore and tales of the Valinor, but it did little to ease her harsh and sharp view of him as well as his brother. Eowyn couldn't see herself bound to neither the former nor later. Nor did she wish to. The only man in her life that she gave to flips about was her brother, and that wasn't about to change, she vowed.

Up ahead Eomer and Theodred rode shotgun on two of the royal stallions. Neither one had much to say to the other, both having received the butt end of their Shieldmaiden's irritable attitude. Eomer had been her first victim in the morning after confronting his sister about her meeting with Faramir. In the end, Eomer gained nothing but a tongue induced lashing from his sister, and a trail of Windrod's dust in his face. Theodred had attempted a more hands on approach, but to little avail. The Prince of Rohan was too, left behind in the dust of Eowyn's mood, and at the mercy of Eomer's consistent wave of "I told you so". All in all, everyone was suffering from Eowyn's lack of enthusiasm, only some (i.e. Eomer, and Theodred) more than others. The Rohirim mustered for the mission to Minas Tirith had also received a verbal thrashing for persistently tailing their White Lady even after she spat out, "If you want someone to follow, follow _them,"_ she said acidly. Hamal immediately drew back, but the others were subject to another telling off by their Shieldmaiden.

"I wonder what happened to put Eowyn in such a foul mood," Theodred said, his head bobbing up and down as his horse trotted at a content pace across the plains.

"_That,"_ Eomer replied sourly, and pointed towards the two princes of Gondor with their banners billowing in the wind.

Eomer's response earned a chuckle from Theodred. "Why are you so harsh on them, when it's their fathers will that commands?" Theodred asked his cousin.

Eomer growled in annoyance. He hated it when Theodred had valid reason that outsmarted his own views. But Eowyn was his life. He would kill, and be killed for his sister. "If they did not support it all, they would have voiced it as such, and not been so cross when—," the third marshal began

"—when you decided to unleash the beast of Rohirim pride?" the prince of Rohan said, finishing Eomer's sentence. Theodred watched as a spark was lit in his cousin's grey eyes which told the young prince that he had definitely hit a nerve. Eomer said nothing in reply, so Theodred spoke again, "You should not be so quick to judge them. I have spoken to both of them in the council chamber. Alone, without father's presence," he pointed to the white spec that was Snowmane and Théoden-king.

A pregnant pause filled the air. "And?" Eomer responded impatiently.

"And…they both told me that neither one of them supports Lord Denethor's ambition of this unity. Albeit it was for personal reasons; the elder, Boromir, is skilled in the ways of war and the sword. He reveres politics and diplomatic manners with little reverence. This is really nothing more to him than a diplomatic quest. He says that he holds no patience in the skills of handling a woman," Theodred said with a careful choice of words. He purposefully left out the part when Boromir whispered to his brother, thinking that Theodred was out of earshot, '_especially one that prefers the company of a horse to that of a person. I doubt she feels any obliged to this than we do'_. "Faramir, the younger, rarely deals with Minas Tirith and is problems in politics. He spends most of his days in Ithilien with the other Rangers," he finished.

"Yes, that all may be true. But it is not a debate of whether or not you are willing to do this. It is not up for debate! Everyone, in one sense or another, is obligated by this treaty. Granted Eowyn no doubt feels any different than they, or even we, do. She is bound by this agreement of old, as much, if not more, than anyone else is!" Eomer exclaimed. His fetal attempt to quell his voice and anger ended in vain. The third marshal held no doubts that everyone in the company, including his sister, had heard his words clear as day. And Eomer didn't care.

"You do have a point. But I think her actions last night are up for heavy argument," Theodred added mischievously. He had seen his cousin with the second son of Denethor. He could not hear their words, but neither one ended up with wounded pride or a blackened eye.

"Really? You would call her current disposition right now up for debate?" Eomer said sarcastically, pointing towards his sister behind him. The pair turned their heads, and Eowyn shot them daggers with her pale blue eyes. "I have no doubt that it is from that whelp," Eomer finished, redirecting their gaze to Faramir as his onyx hair blew back in the wind.

"Oh please! You never liked either of the Gondor princes from the moment you found them in the storm that night. Why must you always jump to the conclusion that they are to blame for every little thing? The other morning you said it was their fault that Eowyn rode off alone with Windrod so as to avoid them," Theodred laughed heartily, "you know was well as I do that she has done that ever since she was able to mount Windrod without him bucking her off in protest".

Eomer scowled at the truth of his cousin, prince, and friend's words of truth. But just because they were right, didn't mean that Eomer had to admit to it. He said nothing in reply, and just glanced coldly back and forth between his sister, who continued to shoot daggers at him, and the pair of brothers. In that moment, Eomer was put into the same foul mood that Eowyn was consumed in.

MXIXVIXIM

Further and further the company rode on until the sun began to kiss the hilly western horizon. Slowly but steadily, the countryside had become increasingly green instead of the everlasting fields of gold and orange, another tell-tale sign that Gondor was rapidly approaching. Théoden-king called a halt to his company, knowing that they would reach Minas Tirith by the following sunset. The march to the White City only took three days from the Riddermark, and he was in no mood to hasten to meet Denethor and hear his 'dire circumstances'. Théoden seriously doubted that his sister-daughter would be forced into the matter due to the fact that he would not enact the treaty if all Denethor had to present was the Orcs of Mordor running amuck in Gondor's lands. Rohan was currently dealing with more-or-less the same problem with Isengaurd, and the Orcs bearing the White Hand of Saruman. But that in itself was not enough invoke the agreement bestowed by Errol. The king had no doubt that if he did not stop the matter, then Eomer and his son would no doubt smuggle their beloved sister, and cousin away, or at least a valiant attempt would be made.

Théoden unseated himself from Snowmane and proceeded to aid the Rohirim around him in pitching the tents, and making camp for the night.

Boromir, Faramir and their legion of Knights made their own camp approximately a dozen yards away from the evergreen banner of the horse lords. None felt welcome, and always under the constant, untrusting gaze of the Rohirim. Neither sibling expected anything more or less. Boromir had dealt with Rohan and its issues in the past, and was well versed in their proud tradition. Faramir had little knowledge in dealing with the riders of the Riddermark, and went solely on the information that his elder sibling passed on to him.

Faramir chewed viciously on a piece of dried meat, his dinner for the remainder of the eve. Next to him, Boromir wore a scowl on his face and just stared absent mindedly into the crackle embers of the fire. The brothers were alone in their thoughts for the rest of the knights had gone off in search of fresh meat. Faramir would have given anything to accompany them, but his political duty bound him to his position of being adjacent to Rohan and its affairs. All day he had pretended not to notice the snide, and contempt ridden glances that Eomer, son of Eomund, had been throwing him all day but after a while it became boring and somewhat tedious not to say anything in return. Boromir simply returned them with equal animosity. All three participants knew they were acting childish and immature, but neither one really cared. "Well if this is any sign as to how father's plans will come about, then I want nothing to do with it," Faramir said with dark sarcasm.

Boromir chuckled in agreement. "I couldn't agree with you more," he replied in all earnest. "I cannot say how relieved I will be when this issue is over and solved," he added.

"Really? You will be glad if this marriage proposal is indeed arranged?" the younger son spoke sarcastically.

"Judging by the overall attitude by them," Boromir pointed towards Theodred and Eomer who were speaking with their Shieldmaiden, "even if, and heed that 'if', Théoden-king agrees to it _her,"_ he jabbed violently at Eowyn, "brother would fight to his last breath against it" the first-born finished.

"You are right in that. Either that, or she would run," Faramir added without any real thought thinking about his encounter with the Lady Eowyn the previous night. Despite the fact that they only spoke briefly, he could tell right from the get-go that she was a proud spirit and would not tolerate being bound to anyone or anything. She would be free, no matter what obstacle interwove in her path. Yet he felt an odd familiarity with the White Lady. Despite the fact that she was soft spoken, it just concealed the fact that she felt so much more than what she verbalized aloud. Faramir knew that, because he was much the same. It was most prevalent when dealing with his father, and wanting more than anything his affection and love. The second son of Denethor highly doubted that even Boromir was aware of that fact. And most certainly none of his fellow Rangers guessed that about their comrade. Faramir kept his personal feelings out his dealings in Ithilien. It made matters much less complicated.

Boromir was on the verge of answering his brother's statement, but a quick flash of motion against the golden horizon caught his steely eyes. "What's that?" he said. Faramir swung around and caught sight of what his elder sibling was focused on. Three dark figures lined the orange orb of the setting sun, all on horses. It couldn't be the four riders that had accompanied because they weren't due to return till the moon had risen, not to mention two of the trio of silhouettes were tall and slender, almost more feminine than masculine and their steeds were white, which the siblings could distinguish as they drew closer and closer.

Apparently the company from Rohan noticed them as well for a quartet of riders soon zoomed past the Gondor camp. Not to be ones left in the dark, both Faramir and Boromir mounted their geldings and followed suite. Both were armed with a sword and, Faramir, with a hidden bow and quiver ripe with arrows. It was not long before they slowed the steady trot of their horses and caught up with the green cloaked, armed and stout steeded Rohirim. Faramir and Boromir exchanged quizzical glances when they saw the three unknown riders. The two that bore features closer to that of a woman than a man were a pair of twin Elves. Their hair was dark, as was their eyes, both were male. Quivers of swan feathered arrows were clearly displayed against their backs and bows were strung from their shoulders. The third however was not an Elf, but a man. His skin was sun streaked from his many travels and his hair was a mixture of dark brown and black. Eyes of sea-grey eyes dotted visage, as did a line of shaggy brown stubble. It took a few moments for Faramir to realize that the man was actually Strider. He was not a frequent member of his Ranger party, but he had done some dealings together in acts against Mordor. Strider would often disappear for months and then suddenly re-appear whenever an imminent threat from Mordor arose.

"Thorongil!" exclaimed a rider that Faramir recognized as Hama, one of the king's gaurds and advisors. Hama bore a striking resemblance to Hamal. Faramir reckoned that they were from the same family, if not father and son. Strider bowed his head and smiled. "What brings you back to the kingdom of Rohan?" Hama inquired.

"Thorongil? Is that what you are called in the Riddermark?" Faramir said.

The man laughed. "Yes. King Thengel gave me that name in his youth. But I am still Strider," he said cheerfully. Turning then to Hama and the Rohirim, "Actually I have business in Rivendell. It is by mere chance that we meet up again," Thorongil said. "This is Elladan and Elrohir," he pointed to the twin elves, "the sons of Elrond".

Soon three more Riders joined the company, this time it was Théoden, Theodred and Eomer. "Thorongil, it is a pleasure to see you again! We have not seen each other in a great many years," Théoden-king greeted. Thorongil bowed his head in greeting, as did the two Elves, who remained silent but bore smug grins of mischief.

"It is by the will of Elbereth that we meet again," Thorongil replied.

"Please Thorongil; join our company for the eve. We have more than abundant supplies," Théoden invited.

Strider seemed more than happy to stay for the remainder of the night; glancing back at his two companions for their agreeing consent, they nodded cheerfully. "We would be grateful to be among your company tonight. But I must ask you, what brings you to the borders between Rohan and Gondor?" he questioned. "Even more, what brings to sons of the Steward to a host of Rohirim?" Strider added.

Immediately a gloomy, and in Eomer's case, hostile, atmosphere hit everyone as Théoden began to explain the current situation. Everyone had already begun to ride back to their proper camp. Faramir managed to sneak a weary glance at a lone figure in the distance on a grey steed with billowing yellow hair. There was no doubt that she had been eavesdropping on their conversation, but in a swift movement retreated back to her tent hoping that none had noticed her temporary absence. "Strange, it seems that I am the only one who has not met this Thorongil," Boromir said, drawing his brother's attention. "And why dose he have multiple names? Thorongil, Strider?"

"That one I do not know. I only knew him by Strider. He is a Ranger that I sometimes see in Ithilien," Faramir replied.

"Strange. Théoden-king said that his father, Thengel gave him the name Thorongil. But how is that possible since Thengel is long since dead. It would mean that he would have to be at least 70 years old, yet he doesn't look a day older than 30!" Boromir said.

"Of that I do not know. What do you say we indulge on their hospitality and find out?" Faramir piped mischievously. With Strider's appearance again, his interest was more than sparked, especially when Boromir had brought up the fact about his age.

Boromir gave a smug expression and kicked his horse in the direction of Théoden and his Rohirim. Faramir gave a cry of protest at his brother's head start.

..(MXIXVIXIM)..

Everyone ate inside of a grand looking, wool woven tent. A fire crackled happily in the center, spitting out small sparks in all directions. Eomer looked positively dangerous when he found out that the Steward siblings would be dining with them. "A connection to Thorongil my foot!" he confided in his sister, who strongly concurred. Theodred kept sweeping somewhat worried glances between Eomer, and the visitor from Gondor. The Prince of Rohan made darn sure that Eomer's weapon was safely tucked away in his own tent, _'Just in case,'_ he thought

A fore foot of a stag was roasting on the fire, as Théoden and Thorongil talked animatedly. The twin Elves mostly kept to themselves talking in a tongue that was foreign to everyone but themselves, save for Thorongil. The brothers seated themselves as far away from the Third Marshall as could be permitted without making it painfully obvious that they were avoiding him, as well as Rohan's prince and king, and most of all, Rohan's White Lady, who was situated adjacent to her brother and the pair threw them daggers at any given glance.

The overall talk was considerably muffled and in a varying degree of languages. Elladan and Elrohir continued to speak in Quenya. King Théoden and Thorongil conversed in the Common-Tongue, and a good deal of others stuck to their traditional language of Meduseld. Both brothers knew two of the three languages fluently, save for Quenya, but still found it odd for everyone sitting in a tent to be all speaking different tongues. Faramir could not help but notice that Eowyn's gaze rarely left Strider's the entire time, and apparently so did Elladan and Elrohir. They muttered something smugly in Elvish. The only word that Faramir clearly caught was the word "_Undomiel" _which he knew to mean Evenstar. Thorongil immediately ceased his talk with Théoden and threw both twins dirty glances, to which they smirked between each other.

Faramir was slightly puzzled by the expressions exchanged between Strider and his companions. Whenever Mithrandir mentioned the story of Beren and Luthien, he would always describe the Elven Princess as Undomiel, the Evenstar of her people. And that all her decedents would be known as such. But what did that have anything to do with the unceasing gaze of Eowyn at the Ranger and smirks of the Sons of Elrond? After a few more minutes of pondering the subject, it was quickly pushed from Faramir's head at the sound of his name.

"Lord Faramir!" someone exclaimed. He looked around to see Theodred laughing. "I called you three times. Your mind was clearly not in here," he laughed.

Faramir retained his composure, despite the fact that he had been caught off guard. "I'm sorry. You are correct, I was carried away in my thoughts," he responded lightly. The twins chuckled merrily.

"As I was saying, when do you expect to reach Minas Tirith?" Theodred inquired.

This time it was Boromir who answered, "Around sometime tomorrow evening. We are nearing Osgiliath, and after that it is only a short tred across the Pelennor to reach Minas Tirith".

"I didn't think we were so close," Theodred mused casually, but glanced at Eowyn who in turn scowled at the floor.

"Yes, I passed Minas Tirith only yesterday morning," Strider responded.

Faramir said nothing. Gazing at Eowyn, a great wave of pity washed over him at the woman who would meet her fate in just one mere day.

SIXIVIXIS

Thorongil, Elrohir and Elladan left the following morning before the sun rose, leaving the rest of the company to their dreams.

MXIXVSVIVSM

END CHAPTER.

Again, I am sooososososossososososososossosososo sorry that this took so freaking long to get out.

I wrote the entire thing in one day, hoping that it would make up for my extended period of absence. I know this chapter was a bit shorter, but there really wasn't much more I could say in this chapter, which is part of the reason why it took me so long to get the urge to just finish it. The end is kind of rushed, but I have a band concert I need to perform in tonight so I needed to hurry and wrap everything up. So don't flame me about that. All flames will be read, laughed at, and deleted.

Please R&R, and let me know your opinion on adding in a bit of Eomer/Lothiriel

_Elen sila lumenn' omtielvo _

Narya


	5. The Mad Dotard Pyro!

And again, thank you so much for your wonderful reviews! They mean so much to me and really help keep me motivated. And yes, this chapter did not take nearly three months to pump out, like the last one. Again, I am sorry. Life got in the way, as it so frequently dose.

**Disclaimer: **I offered the Tolkien Estate to buy the rights to the Lord of the Rings, but unfortunately they turned me down. Maybe it had something to do with the nickel I said I would pay for exclusive rights. So there! I do not own The Lord of the Rings. Not mine don't sue.

**Author's MISTAKE: **Thank you to one of my wonderful readers who pointed this out—the name of Eorl was automatically being defaulted by my computer to Errol (the Weasley family owl). Thank you to who pointed this out, and the same thing with my misusage of manor (not manner). I fixed both of those mistakes, including the default spelling of Eorl to Errol. Thank you for pointing it out, and for those of you who put up with my stupid mistakes.

**Note: ** Someone brought this to my attention that Aragorn was known as Thorongil in Gondor and not Rohan. Aragorn called himself Thorongil when he rode with Thengel, and yes, those in Gondor would know of him as Thorongil but this is an A/U so I did change some things. It ads a bit of mystery to the man that Eowyn loves, and Faramir…whoops…nearly gave it away! To the reader, thank you for your wonderful review.

**Warnings: **Nothing much I can think of, unless you count a Denethor alert system. For the record, I don't like him. I nicknamed him the 'Mad Dotard Pyro'. It is a joke if you remember Gandalf's line to him in RotK "you will be dotard when you die" or something along those lines; I just thought it was funny so I officially named him the Mad Dotard Pyro. Oh, I don't own Gandalf's line either. Don't sue me. And if you don't understand the humor in Gandalf's line, go look up the word dotard, and see how it relates to Denethor's death.

Enjoy this chapter….

…. (SIVIVXIVIVS) ….

(The next evening)

The ruin of Osgiliath was set before Ingold's eyes. It was oddly ironic how such a worn and ruined city could hold such beauty. What little untarnished marble that remained shined against the sun, reflecting the sparkle of Anduin small waves. Little patches of grass and other such brush grew askew in odd patches, slowly dominating the crumbling city. For Ingold it held a primal beauty that was akin to Osgiliath alone, a feat that Minas Tirith could not accomplish.

Overhead the sun began to kiss the green rimmed mounds to the North of Osgiliath. The ethereal beauty of night began its routine clash with the sun's golden rays, a battle that was won at every horizon. Against the glistening armor of the Gondorian Knights, the sun beams tinted the grey steel a light orange hue. Ingold squinted his eyes against the blazing rays as they fought futility against the rising moon's forces. He and his army had been awaiting the return of Prince Boromir and Faramir to Osgiliath where they would escort the company to the gates of Minas Tirith and upon the cold words of Lord Denethor. Ingold knew very well of his Steward's plans for treaty with Rohan, and the marriage that would accompany it. He doubted seriously as to whether either prince, Boromir or Faramir, would humbly submit to their father's will. Boromir has too head high with pride in battle, and Faramir cared little for Gondor's political affairs and relations with foreign countries, save for if it was perceived as an imminent threat to home country.

'_Well, at least this was an easy task,'_ Ingold consoled himself, doing his best to keep from feeling that the entire day was a wasted effort of just sitting like a hoard of ducks in a pond. The Knight doubted that his men, both inferior and superior, felt any more different. He knew many, including himself, who would be much more content with slitting the throat of a troublesome Orc, or in the fight against Mordor. In that moment, the soldier was grateful for the fact that his duties took him away from Minas Tirith, and the epicenter of Gondor's politics. It was more often than not, tiresome and pointless, when he was assigned a duty anywhere near the free kingdom's borders.

Ingold kicked a random rock into a puddle of water with his iron clad toe. Boredom was beginning to take over reason in Knight's head. Just as he was about sigh in frustration a voice called out, "Captain Ingold!" He lifted his head forward to see one of the younger knights of his group pointing excitedly towards the horizon.

Lo and behold! His 15 hours of waiting was not in vain. Dotted against the horizon was a white banner that interwove with the wind. Following the rear was the green flag of the Rohirim. Ingold mounted his horse and went out to meet his captain and princes. Eagerly, the rest of his men followed suite behind their leader.

The distance between the two parties was closed quickly. "Captain Faramir, Lord Boromir!" Ingold called to his superiors.

The two black haired specs raised their hands in greeting to their fellow comrade. Coming over the buff of the hill Snowmane and his rider, Théoden, soon was in the midst of Ingold and his men. Behind the King of Rohan were its Prince, Third Marshall, and Shieldmaiden. Only twice in Ingold's life had he been among the company of Rohan. He knew only a little of their ways and culture, and even less of their native language. But from what he had gathered, the Rohirim were tall and proud, sturdy and strong with long wild locks of yellow and red and horses that could out run even the noblest steed of Men. It was somewhat difficult for Ingold to comprehend why such a proud people would surrender their most prized treasure, their White Lady, all at the whim of a lord from a foreign, at least from the perspective of the Rohirim, lord. But then there were many things that Ingold knew not, nor did he wish to know. This was one of those situations. "Welcome guests, we," he pointed to his men, "are glad to have you visit our great city," he pointed to the shining white marble sheen in the distance. "My name is Ingold; I am a Knight of Gondor. If there is any way I can make your visit more enjoyable please do not hesitate to ask," the Knight finished. After all courtesy to travelers was a common place. Boromir and Faramir both bore looks of boredom.

"I thank your kind welcome. I am Théoden, King of the Riddermark," Rohan's leader responded.

"Come sir Théoden-king, my Lord Denethor is waiting," Ingold said, not wanting to prolong his task. He quickly took note of the tall golden haired man, with fierce grey eyes, wearing well-made, thick, and sturdy armor. To his right side was a woman fair and clad in white, with the same yellow tendrils. It was strange for Ingold to see a woman upon a horse; nothing could be more foreign to the Gondor custom. Sighing he signaled for the company to follow him to the Steward of the White City.

SVXIXVS

The ride across the Pelennor fields went all too fast for Eowyn. She would have given anything within her power to prolong her time before her meeting with Denethor. Earlier in the day, her uncle pulled her aside and warned Eowyn of Lord Denethor and his powerful grasp and linage. Théoden spoke also of the customs in Gondor, when a woman was quiet and dressed in long frilly clothes. It became clear to Eowyn that she would be like a duck out of water in a city such as Minas Tirith. Eomer had stuck to her side like glue all day, not moving even an inch from her hip and always sending hostile expressions to Boromir and Faramir. Theodred did much of the same thing, only he tailed her from behind hoping not to at least a bit more oblivious. His attempts failed miserably, but Eowyn said nothing.

Minas Tirith was a city so strange and different than anything she had ever seen. Eowyn could not help but internally gawk at the settings around her. Everything was so crisp and clean. She knew from the word of others, much less from experience, that the white shimmering marble would show off any sort of soil or fouling element. But it was clean and polished to a crisp gleam that reflected the sun's rays in an almost ethereal manner. The Stone City was almost a living contradiction to the Golden Hall. Everything there was silent and refined, where as Meduseld could almost always be loud and jubilant, at least when there was no cause for sorrow. The children in Rohan would run, jump and play in muck and soil only to have their parents laugh heartily and scold them softly for not inviting them in on the fun. The women of the Riddermark acted and partook in events the same as any man, but in Minas Tirith Eowyn could only catch glimpses of an occasional mother with a child quickly hurrying back home and not out and about, frolicking in the sun. _If this is what it is truly like to live in this city, than I want no part of it,_ Eowyn thought grimly.

The streets were empty and silent save for the sound of hooves against stone. Leading the intermixed party was Ingold and his men, with Boromir and Faramir behind. Théoden was next in line, Hama, Hamal, Eothain, and several other Rohirim. Then it was herself, with Eomer adjacent and Theodred leading up the rear. If adrenaline had not been pumping at full speed through her blood, Eowyn might have laughed at the sight she knew that they must have been marching up the seven tiers of Minas Tirith. However presently, Eowyn gripped at Windrod's reigns tightly, causing her hands to turn a slight tint of red, and did her best to make good use of her long blonde locks by letting them fall across her face.

Eomer, sensing his sister's apprehension gripped her sweat streaked palms and smiled serenely. Eowyn retuned his gaze with a weak grin.

However Eowyn was not the only one feeling tense as the distance between them and Lord Denethor decreased. Faramir slowly, steadily, and almost non-noticeably drew his bay back. The Ranger would have given anything if his father would greet him with open arms and a loving gaze, but his heart fell when he knew that it was Boromir who won Denethor's affections. All he was greeted with was a stern expression and hard words, and yet he did not resent his brother or father. No—it just made Faramir all the more determined to prove his worth to his father, whom he loved dearly. He knew that Boromir did not wish for their father's devout and obvious favoritism, and Faramir loved Boromir as he did his father. None-the-less, the second son of the Steward knew that it would be best if Denethor saw his first born before his steely eyes were laid upon himself.

Boromir knew this, and thus allowed his brother to stealthily slow his pace, without calling attention to his actions. The elder son loved his brother, as his father did him. It was one of the few ways that Boromir could show his brotherly affection for his younger sibling.

Every so often Faramir would catch a glimpse of Eowyn from the corner of his eye. Her demeanor was downcast and sullen, not that he could blame her. She, like him and even Boromir, had more than sufficient reason to feel that way; after all, the treaty between Gondor and Eorl was not one to be broken and encompassed them all. It was a strange and ironic familiarity he shared with the White Lady. Faramir hadn't spoken with her since the eve of Beren and Nimrodel. He chuckled at the thought of the river Elf with Beren. Faramir felt secure in the thought that Mithrandir would no doubt derive a good deal of humor from that thought as well, but Faramir reminded himself sternly, this was not the time to be pondering on what would humor Mithrandir. None-the-less, Faramir would have given a good deal for the old wizard's words and comfort, especially in the situation he was currently submerged up to his neck in.

He could not help but pity Eowyn, and yet, he knew that she did not want pity from anyone. His two brief encounters with the Lady had told him that much, and Faramir could not help but he somewhat attracted to that sense of independence and pride that almost seemed to radiate from her. She was an enigma; there was no doubt about that. Even Boromir had admitted, in the strictest of confidence, which he found Lady Eowyn enticing to the eye from a male standpoint. She was beautiful; with her long yellow hair, small and slender form, and blue eyes. All of the feminine aspects desired in a woman were present in the sturdy and proud Shieldmaiden. She was so different from any of the noblewomen in Gondor that Faramir found himself drowning in whenever he made a visit home. The noblewomen would follow him like a lost puppy dog and make a terrible fuss just whenever he would cough. The Captain knew exactly why his brother strayed from any and all matters dealing with women and their fickle ways, as well as tear-ridden and fussy manner. And yet, Eowyn was as independent and unconcerned about her male superiors as her brother. She carried herself like a man, rode as one, and held the pride and honor of the most daring soldier.

Before anyone knew it the gates of the Citadel stood proud and daunting over the sons of the Steward and the small party from Rohan. Ingold lowered his head in farewell and drew his men away to the mess hall. The first shades of night were beginning to cast their dark shadow over the land. Faramir turned to his brother who looked just as unnerved as he was. Signaling to the Rohirim, the brothers and their company dismounted. "No beasts of any sorts are allowed in the Citadel. I am sorry friends, but you will have to dismount here. Fret not, they will be well cared for," Beregond chirped cheerfully. Théoden nodded and his feet hit the ground with a loud THUMP. The remainder of the Rohirim followed suite.

Out from nowhere a small number of stable men appeared and escorted the steeds of the horse lords to the appropriate settings. Windrod looked somewhat apprehensive to go with the strange men, but Eowyn cooed gently into his ear. After a final farewell pat, Windrod reluctantly trotted off with the other geldings. Sighing, Eowyn gazed around at the stone courtyard and its beauty, especially under the budding beams of the moon. A fountain bubbled from the center and its water was as pure as waters from Snowbourne. In essence the entire place held a strange beauty that Eowyn had never seen before. For a few moments Eowyn pondered why everyone remained still and did not descended to the daunting black and white marble Citadel that loomed ever so close by. She exchanged puzzled expressions with Eomer and Theodred; however their questions were answered when the large stone gates began to creak from being drawn by the mighty leaver that opened them.

From inside the dark interior of the Citadel a old man emerged, accompanied by a pair of armed soldiers. He was deathly pale and his visage marked by many deep chiseled wrinkles. His hair was grey, yet thick speckled with a few strands of white. Clad in black fur raiment and with a large black marble rod he walked with pride and a very cold demeanor. Eowyn could not help but take heed to his icy eyes that instead of looked placidly at the world around, as her uncle's did, glared with warning and suspicion. She knew immediately that this was the Steward of Gondor, but it was not by the bowed heads of the Gondor Knights, nor the lowered banner from the Rohirim. She couldn't quite place her finger and what it was that distinguished this man as nobility and power, but his very presence demanded heed and respect. Eowyn expected the first words from his tongue to be something along of the lines of 'what took you so long' but instead the Lord Denethor walked placidly up to Boromir and he broke out in a smile of welcome. "My son!" he said in a semi-jubilant tone. The pair embraced in a hug of welcome. "Father," Boromir replied.

Faramir watched in the same way as Eowyn did as his father so lovingly embraced Boromir. Why couldn't father love him as he did Boromir? In a reclusive manner, Faramir stepped forward and bowed his head as Denethor approached. He dared not say anything as his father's cold eyes came upon him. "Father," he greeted softly, his eyes daring that he would get a response of warmth and tenderness.

However the youngest son of the Steward sorely disappointed when Denethor did little but nod in recognition of Faramir's presence. His head sunk back to the ground, screaming at himself mentally why he had expected anything more.

"Théoden-king of the Riddermark, I bid thee welcome to my fair city," Denethor said acknowledging the green banner for the first time.

"And I am glad to be of such welcome. And yet, such dreary business bids our paths to be intertwined," Théoden responded, bowing his head in respect for the Steward of Gondor.

"Yes yes, but of course I would not have brought it forth if not my needs dire," Denethor said smugly, his eyes surveying Eowyn. She cringed internally at his gaze, but only a stone-cold expression marked her face. Eomer must have a change in his sister's demeanor because he stepped forward protectively.

"You are, of course right, however such dramatic circumstance must be agreed upon by both sides of the spectrum," Théoden replied sternly.

Denethor immediately lost his smug attitude and said promptly, "Come guests, my servants will show you your quarters. I pray that you enjoy this trip to my magnificent city," he finished. The two men that guarded either side of their lord went to Théoden and his guests. Boromir, Faramir, Beregond and their company took off in a completely different direction. The siblings took their place at their father's side and Beregond went to go join Ingold in the mess hall.

IXIXSIXIXI

Eowyn found her quarters quite comfortable and accommodating. Her room was made of white stone, and had a window that overlooked the fields of Pelennor and the faint glimmer of Osgiliath. If she looked directly down she could see a small courtyard with heaps of mail and iron stuffed in random corners. The Shieldmaiden assumed that it was a sparring ring for the Knights in training. She had a small metal wrought bed with soft cotton sheets and feather pillows. It was much softer and form fitting than the wool and nettles she had become accustomed to in Meduseld. She much preferred her itchy wool and nettles. Adjacent to her bed was a small marble table with a stone basin, which was currently filled with water. The smell of horses and field grass was absent in the air, and she found it somewhat vexing the lingering fragrance of perfumes that unrelentingly tickled her nose. Apparently the room was only used to occupy noble women of high rank and their noxious fumes. On the wall hung a silk spun wall scroll of the White Tree.

She knew little of what to make of her situation. Eowyn knew that the following morning council was to be held between Denethor, Théoden and their advisors. Naturally she would be left out, and she seriously doubted that Eomer would be allowed in to over hear conversation. Luckily Theodred was the son of the King, and thus required to attend. It was painfully unfair how she was always left behind in any major decision making, and especially when it had to do with the question of her very future.

Night had finally officially overcome the land. Wanting a bit of fresh air, Eowyn stepped outside on the small balcony that came with her room. The railing was pillared to the ceiling in a strange structure, something that she wouldn't see in Rohan. The moon hung suspended overhead as did the unblinking eyes of the stars as the sparkled overhead in their crystalline splendor. For a fleeting moment, Eowyn was reminded of the Evenstar from the tale of Tinuviel. However she drew her mind back onto the more important and imminent task at hand. A light breeze began to pick up and it flared her flimsy silken night dress, as well as her hair. The air carried a small chill in it, and Eowyn shivered slightly but it was not enough to draw her back in. Eowyn clutched the railing however drew her hand back because of the frigid temperature that stone carried at night. She yearned for the warmth of the tender wood that formed her room in the Golden Hall. Everything in Minas Tirith just seemed so cold and frigid with proper manners.

Looking to the right and left Eowyn found that all the guest chambers held small balconies as hers. A story below was one considerably larger than her own, and this one was occupied. From her point of view, Eowyn could spy a thick head of black hair which she soon saw it to be Faramir. He too was dressed in casual eve attire; a billowy earthen tunic and cotton breeches. He was holding a book in his right hand and resting his head on his chin with the other. She knew that she shouldn't spy on others, especially the son of the Steward, but given the circumstances Eowyn carried little for the proper protocol. He was muttering somberly under his breath and seemed frustrated. Her ears distinctly caught the words "Why?" and "What can I do?"

………((()))………..

Because the atmosphere inside was clouding his senses, Faramir chose to step outside and clear his head. The book he had been reading was now clutched tightly in his hand due to the sheer frustration of not being able to take his mind off his father, brother, Théoden, and the Lady Eowyn. When he and Boromir had walked off with their father, he (Denethor) made it his first point of sneering to his sons that he had Rohan cornered and couldn't do anything against the situation. Denethor finished his speech by saying "fret not; the will of their so-called '_Shieldmaiden' _is easily broken. Her nature is not so steely as they make it out to be" and then stormed off, calling Boromir to escort him, leaving Faramir in their shadow. Boromir looked back at his brother just as Denethor began to ramble on about how clever his plan was.

Faramir attempted at first to quell his foul mood by reading one of his favorite books of Elvish song, the one his hand held, however it ended in vain. His mind kept on reflecting the sneer of triumph on Denethor's lips and the increasingly narrow corner that Théoden was being pushed into. Even more was the sad face of the Lady Eowyn, and her independent pride. He pitied both the King and Shieldmaiden of the horse lords and the ever-sharper arrow that was aimed towards them. Soon the bowman would release his golden arrow and it would pierce the thickest armor and shields of pride and nobility. Someone would eventually be hit, whether it be Théoden and Eowyn by agreeing to Denethor's plan, or Eomer and his brotherly protection of his beloved sister. Sometimes it seemed that Denethor concocted more wicked schemes than Morgoth himself! Or course he didn't have the malice or the resources Morgoth did, but the comparison was frightening none-the-less.

"Little brother," said a voice from behind. Faramir spun his heels to see his brother looking back at him.

"What news has father told you?" Faramir questioned.

Boromir smiled softly. "Worry not. You know no more than I do. Sometimes I even wonder if he has the grounds needed to enact this treaty. But he is the Steward first, then our father. It is not my place to ask," he said softly.

"Unfortunately your words are true," Faramir said sullenly. "It is enough to make me wish that I were in Ithilien when he assigned us both to venture into Rohan and bestow upon them his requests," said he.

Boromir nodded in agreement. "I can only assume as much. And for once, I now yearn that I was with you and your Rangers when father summoned me for this little adventure," he joked.

Faramir chuckled. "Oh really? You would subject yourself to those who follow 'that great oaf' as father so_ lovingly_ puts it, Mithrandir," he threw back sarcastically. Granted both Boromir and Mithrandir were great and wizened warriors, Faramir had little doubt that neither would hold any sort of tolerance for the other.

"Speaking of father, are you alright?" Boromir inquired sincerely.

The smallest spec of sadness appeared in Faramir's brow, and he was grateful that Boromir did not excel at reading others. "Yes. Don't fret over it. You would expect that by now I would find myself immune to his--," he faulted, searching for the right words, "nature".

"No I wouldn't," Boromir replied.

Faramir was slightly shocked by his brother's soft and serene words. The way of the tongue was not necessarily his brother's specialty, or his for that matter, but the younger could not help but be moved by his brother's condolences and love. "Thank you," Faramir said and smiled at his sibling.

Boromir grinned, not only at his brother but at their spector. "It looks like we have ourselves an admirer," Boromir said smugly and gestured to the balcony above them.

Faramir looked up and like his elder, saw the long yellow hair of Eowyn and her pale face hovering over them. However, instead of being somewhat irritated by the fact that she had been watching and listening to the entirety of their conversation, Faramir couldn't help but noticing how ethereal she looked basked under the moonlight. Thankful to the Valinor that Boromir could not read his mind Faramir ignored her presence and said, "What think you of her now, after our first encounter?"

"Much the same as before. Fair in features but stone cold, and revered as a man instead of the woman she is," Boromir stated but not unkindly. A thought must have struck him because he smirked at his younger sibling. "And you little brother? I noticed you and her together on the first eve of our crossing," his eyes flashed with a boyish mischief.

Unblushingly Faramir replied, "She is proud, independent and yes the same as before—sad," he paused. "However I cannot help but pity her. think of it from her perspective and one cannot help but pity the poor maiden from Rohan," he finished. Looking up again, Faramir saw that Eowyn had disappeared into her chambers.

…(SISMVXVMSIS)….

Eventually the air became too frigid for Eowyn and she retired to her room. The brother's conversation was subtlety spoken and she could not clearly distinguish their words. She gladly met the warm air of her room went over to the corner across from her bed where her small trunk from the Golden Hall laid. Her trunk was neither fancy nor exquisite, but it fulfilled its duty as well as the most expensive and fancy accessory in all of Middle-Earth. Expertly she fumbled with the leather straps and watched as it fell open. Folded lazily at the top were the few dresses her maids packed for her meeting in Minas Tirith. One was made of cotton and trimmed with gold, with thongs bound the arms of the bell-shaped sleeves. Most of the others were rough and woolen for her riding and near the bottom was the only true exquisite dress she owned made of silk with satin slippers. Along with it was her headdress for royal court functions; usually it sat on a shelf collecting dust. Her foul mood the day of packing prevented Eowyn form giving two flips about what her maids packed, and this was the first time she surveyed the contents of her trunk. The only artifact inside was her sword that she had expertly concealed among the mass of skirts and floating sleeves of fabric. During the first eve of camp she had slipped it in her trunk when the candles had burnt down to nothing but smoldering wax and the camp fire had all but died out. Riding all day with a blade concealed underneath all her skirts was not the most comfortable method of transportation.

Eowyn drew forth her sword from among the massive amounts of cotton, wool and silk. The hilt was more or less a basic design given to the Rohirim for combat. It had the horse of Rohan carved into it. The real beauty of her weapon was the blade. It shined and shimmered in any light of sort and chiseled into the blade was the ancient writing of Eorl. She caressed her sword like a lover.

A soft knock at her door brought Eowyn back into reality and she hastily hid her weapon back into her trunk. If Théoden or even Theodred caught found her hidden treasure, no doubt it would be ceased. After making sure that no trace of her secret, she went to answer the door. Who could be knocking on her door at this time of night? Even Eomer wouldn't dare or else face her ill temper and lack of sleep the following morning. The door made a little CLACK as she flipped the lock open and swung the door open. As it creaked when it inched forward, Eowyn's eyes became round as dinner plates when she saw who stood in front of here.

It was Lord Denethor.

"My Lord!" Immediately she dropped her head in a bow out of respect from the Steward. Under normal circumstances, Eowyn would do none of the sort but since this was indeed a foreign country where she had little to no say to any of the actions that occurred, she undertook what would be the commonplace courtesy in Rohan.

Denethor said nothing to her respect and invited himself into her room. Cold as always, he stepped over the threshold. There was little change in him with his icy eyes, grey mantle and a just plain mean aura that radiated from him. "I trust your stay in my hose thus far has been accommodating?" Denethor asked with no real emotion. Eowyn highly doubted that if she didn't find it accommodating that the Steward would do anything about it, but swallowing her gut she replied courtly.

"Yes my Lord," said she.

"Good. How has your uncle been since my sons have arrived on your door step?" Denethor said matter-of-factly, and then quickly changing the subject to Théoden. Because this was indeed the man that had sent his two princes to bring new of her near bestowment to Boromir or Faramir, Eowyn did not feel exactly forthcoming with information to the grey old man.

"My uncle is dealing with the manner as he sees fit. I do not understand why you question me, and not he if you are, as you suggest, concerned," she replied shortly, choosing her words carefully. However it was nothing more, or less, than the truth from what little information had been given her. Théoden had barely spoken three words to her since their departure of Edoras.

"Yes yes, but surely had not said anything to you since after you are the…epicenter of sorts, from all this," Denethor retorted somewhat mockingly.

More and more Eowyn just wanted to jump off her balcony to escape from her present situation, and even more from the mirthless grey eyes that refused to even blink in her presence. "No, he has not," she said curtly. She wanted so much to just at least glare back at him in anger. He was interrogating her, thinking her so stupid to reveal any and all words her uncle had said about the matter. Well Eowyn was not going to play the part of the witless maiden, nor was she going to divulge everything to the man before even if he was the Steward of Minas Tirith. _Steward, _she reminded herself, _not King. _

"Fine. If not your uncle then maybe his son. I could not help but notice that you, he and your brother are _exceptionally _close," Denethor pushed, becoming slightly short of patience that Eowyn was not the usual woman that fell to pieces in the presence of a man of high ranking.

"Theodred has said nothing. He will not betray the words of his loving father," Eowyn said, praying to the Valar more and more that she did not lose her temper.

"Come Child, certainly they have said something," said he.

"No, my _lord,"_ she replied putting a delicate stress on the word.

Seeming more than a little put-out, Denethor said," Very well. I should bid you wisely to retire for the night. The morning meal will be early and you are summoned to come," he said somewhat bitterly and stormed out the door. Putting her ear to the door Eowyn could hear the old man muttering, "Foolish women and their silly loyalties".

She would have love dearly to throw the door open and shout at the top of her lungs at Denethor, but her superego won that battle. Instead she mumbled furiously, "Foolish men and _their _ambitions". In that moment Eowyn vowed that she would with all her power not allow this treaty to take place. If she had to die on the battlefield then so be it!

…(XIXSXIX)….

END CHAPTER.

HA, what do you think of that? What will happen to poor Faramir and Eowyn now that Denethor has stuck his nose in? What is Denethor scheming? And what will Théoden decide once he hears of Denethor's circumstance that should Eowyn be engaged to either Faramir or Boromir?

Stay tuned! (Yes, I am quite aware that I sound like one of those crappy T.V. show hosts)

Please remember to R&R, as well as tell me your input on some E/L.

_Elen sila lumenn' omtielvo _

Narya


	6. Council Begins and Flawed Fighting

drum roll please……….

Chapter 6.

**Disclaimer: **If you say that I own The Lord of the Rings or any of its affiants, you can go screw yourself because I don't. And if I made any sort of profit on this, I would use it to build the world's biggest A-bomb and blow the crap out of this little brat in band and chemistry, then I'll take their head and bash it against a brick wall. All you lawyers can sue me for that, not for stealing anything that belongs to Tolkien.

**Please Note: **Yes, I KNOW that Eowyn originally has grey eyes in the books. However since this is an AU, I changed them to be blue. If you read the books, almost all the characters have grey eyes (really, read for yourself: Aragorn, Boromir, Faramir, Eomer, Théoden, Eowyn, Denethor, and I think Beregond all have grey eyes). I think Tolkien really liked the color grey because Windfola was also grey, Denethor's robes, Firefoot (in the books, Eomer's horse) was grey. I just got tired of all the grey so I changed some of it. Oh and Prince Imrahil had grey eyes. I changed Firefoot's appearance too, if you didn't realize and gave him to Hamal instead of Eomer.

**Rana: **You're a good guesser you know that? You figured out (one) of my plot twists, I won't say which one though. Kudos for you! Don't worry, Eowyn and Faramir will fall in love. In the next 1-2 chapters, something pretty major will happen that brings them much closer together. Not to mention a bit of fluff in this one.

**Warnings: **Eowyn and Faramir fluff ahead, not so much in this chapter but the next chapter. I know that my previous two chapters haven't really had much fluff between them, well this one dose.** Mad Dotard Pyro alert.** Eowyn is somewhat OOC in this. I tried, I really did, to keep her IC, but it just turned out that way.

**My official decision: **Remember earlier when I asked if you want some Eomer/Lothiriel, well the tallies are in! And the results are….

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…in the chapter. You'll have to read the chapter to find out. If you see any E/L hints, or glances, or anything, than the answer is yes. If not, the answer is no.

Enjoy…

MIMXVIVMXM

Eomer woke early the next morning. Sleep came hard for him the previous eve, despite the fact that his eyes felt like heavy anvils that threatened to drop. His mind was too busy and preoccupied by all the stress brought on by the Steward of the City. The entire night Eomer found himself staring heavily at the ceiling in a state of deep thought. Yet as he rose, ere the sun had risen, Eomer could scarcely recollect what all it was he had pondered just a few hours prior. It was strange how all the sudden you would be so deep and immersed in thought, that a second later you forget every last moment of it. From what little he could see out his window, Eomer know that it was not yet dawn and threw himself back on his bed. The bed itself was much more soft and fit for a woman's delicate form than what he had become accustomed and quite comfortable in in Rohan.

Denethor had come to visit Eomer during the night. It had come to a great shock to the Third Marshall that the throne caretaker would visit him so late at night. His blood began to boil at the mere memory of the Steward who was as cold as the stone city he ruled. Denethor had waltzed into his quarters at an unreasonable hour and then had the very nerve to interrogate him on what choice Théoden was leaning towards. If Eomer had not been so dead set against the treaty to begin with, he would have refrained from shattering his water basin against the wall but found the sound of shattering porcelain music to his ears. As every second passed Eomer continued to find more and more reason to do all within, and out, of his power to keep his sister from being forced into courtship-- or worse, marriage.

Eowyn was the world to him. He was there when Theodwyn was yelling in her painstaking contractions just as his sister was being born. He had been present to watch as his mother named her precious, and final child, and there as she died coddling both her son and daughter arm in arm. Of course Eowyn had only been a babe, but it was a tender and sad memory that he shared with none but her. Not one major incident of Eowyn's life had passed without him being present to tease, taunt, love, and embrace his sister. Eomer had been the one convinced Théoden to permit her to train under the helm of the Rohirrim. Memories of the two in the sword ring clashing blades and exchanging sibling insults were fresh in his mind. Her spirit was as wild as the stallion she rode, and Eomer would not let his sister lose it. Even the memories of their frequent trials and tribulations due to their age and gender difference, he revered because it was those precious moments that could not be replaced. The mere thought of Boromir or Faramir, much more Denethor, automatically sent Eomer's temper ablaze. Eowyn would say that when anger, her brother's eyes were akin to flame in their rage. Eomer did not know if that was true, nor did he really care. No doubt the forced marriage to a man, much less a man of Gondor, would be a tidal wave on her fiery free spirit. He simply would not allow that—end of story! (A/n: not really)

The sun was beginning to come out of hiding from behind the hills of the West and reclaim its victory against the moon. A soft knock came at Eomer's door. "Yes?" he answered. Immediately his door creaked open. He saw a very young looking boy, no older than 13 or 14, fitted in oversized mail and a helm. It was somewhat comedic looking at the boy; Eomer could not help but chuckle, but on the other hand he knew that he looked no different in his elongated helmet and armor that was twice the size he was.

"My Lord Denethor summons you to dine with him this morn. It will commence in one hour," the lad managed to stutter out. He looked positively hilarious in his nervous state and trice sized too large armor. Every other word the boy was forced to re-adjust his helm for it continued to fall over his eyes.

"Thank you. Tell your Lord that I will be there," Eomer said. He doubted there was any legitimate way out of it. Théoden, Theodred, and Eowyn were most likely summoned as well. He dismissed the petrified child and went to dress. For the day he chose a pair of fine buckskin breeches, and a simple breastplate with no mail beneath it. There would be no battles and any unnecessary weight was immediately lost. He draped a simple yellow mantle around his shoulders to balance the beams against the slight chill that the wind brought with it.

As had became his routine of norm since late, Eomer did is daily vow not to kill, harm, maim or dismember Boromir, Faramir, Denethor or anyone else for that matter no matter how tempting the matter became . The Third Marshall was a proud man, no one could deny that. Also no one could deny his short fuse and explosive temper even though it was what made him so ideal for the life and training of the Rohirrim. With a deep breath, he pushed away all thoughts of negativity of Gondor and those from it---in and out—in and out. Satisfied that his temper would remain in check, Eomer left his room in search of where the dining hall was located. He assumed it was somewhere in the vicinity of the throne, but was forced to do every man's bane—ask the locals for directions. The soldiers were glad to point Eomer in the right direction.

Halfway to his destination, Eomer saw the yellow hair of his sister in front of him. She too looked life sleep did not come freely or willingly to her. "Eowyn" he called out. Eowyn turned around and waited for Eomer to catch up with her hastened pace. Small circles rimmed the bottom of her eyes and her face was pale, but Eowyn smiled serenely at her brother. "I daresay that you had as much sleep as I did," Eomer said to his sister.

"And I daresay you are correct," Eowyn grumbled. Since Denethor's midnight visit to her quarters she spent the entire night fathoming what scheme the Steward had up his finely furnished sleeve.

"Dare I inquire, did by any chance Lord Denethor visit you last night?" Eomer said, trying—and failing—to make his voice sound casual.

Eowyn jerked her head in his direction. How did he know? Or worse, did the nearly senile ruler interrogate Eomer as well. Anger began to boil in Eowyn. "And if I said yes?" she answered. Eomer said nothing but met his sister's gaze. "Don't tell me…the audacity of this Steward of theirs!" she exclaimed, her checks becoming red. Of all the things, Denethor took it upon himself to systematically question the niece and nephew of the King. She wondered if he had the very nerve to question Theodred. It would not come as a complete surprise if he did.

"You too?"

"Yes," Eowyn replied sourly. All thoughts of food to quell her talking stomach were vanish, even if hunger did not. "Should we say anything to Theodred, or our uncle?" She questioned, not really knowing the proper course of action to take. No doubt Theodred would get word, whether or not the siblings told him directly; news and hints of such things were always at the tips of their prince's ears. But as to tell Théoden? Neither sibling knew.

"Well, I suggest we cease this conversation considering our surroundings," Eomer quickly said, pointing yet another set of marble doors. Two gaurds stood sternly on both frames, gesturing the pair to come inside. Eowyn 'shushed' her tongue and burning questions. Did the Gondor Princes know of this, or was Denethor so conniving that he would force his own kin into such a predicament. She wouldn't put it past the cold ruler. Scowling, Eowyn entered the magnificent dining room.

Like the rest of the city, it was pillared marble. In the room's epicenter a large elongated stone stable lay with chairs surrounding all ends. Great pewter goblets were placed on the table with fine china pates and utensils. However despite the grand layout, the only one's to greet the siblings of Rohan were those of Gondor. Boromir and Faramir sat on the far upper end on either side of the table's up most pinnacle. Apparently they had been in deep conversation before their presence was graced by Eowyn and Eomer. Boromir nodded curtly at their presence and Faramir welcomed them and pointed to their seats. Eomer sat to the left of the lower pinnacle and Eowyn, the right. A basin of water lay in the middle of the table and the two brothers passed it to the other end of the table. Eowyn and Eomer hastily washed their hands and waited for the arrival of Théoden, Theodred and Denethor.

"No doubt that _knowledge_ hungry dotard is catching up on his lost hours spent interrogating us," Eomer spat out acidly in the native tongue of Rohan. His voice was loud enough so Eowyn snorted at his bold words, but low so as not to catch the lobes of Faramir and Boromir.

"I concur," Eowyn agreed, also in her first tongue not the Common.

"Concur with what?" came a boisterous voice from behind. Eowyn turned around to see the ever-cheerful face of Theodred. She often wondered if anything ever made him truly angry. Not even those times in the sparring ring when she had disarmed him as a lad Theodred didn't lose his cheery disposition. Behind the bright face of their prince was the expression of gloom that was glued to Théoden's visage. The King of Rohan took a seat at the lower head of the table.

A few moments later Denethor came in and sat between his kin. Semi-dark circles rimmed his cold steely eyes and he looked like an irritable temperament had taken a hold. Eomer and Eowyn glared at the Steward, which didn't go unnoticed. Boromir and Faramir saw the expressions of contempt that they were throwing at their father. However they reckoned that it would be wisest not to say anything.

Faramir eventually went to sleep when the moon was high in the sky. He often felt alien in his quarters at Minas Tirith in their exquisite luxury. Usually the soft moss that grew in thick sheets in Ithilien served as his bed, or the mist of the Forbidden Pool caressing his body at moonrise was his blanket. He did not have servants that would wait on him beck and call. He and his fellow Rangers were equal and did their own bidding, not called on another to do so. When he did finally succumb to sleep he had a very strange dream that he could not take his mind from.

/_Dream mode/_

_A fell entity clad in black nothingness stood tall, and erect with his evil aura. All around this strange creature of darkness were the screams of blood lust, rage, revenge, murder, and death. The sun was rising above the hills to the East, but the usual beauty brought on by the sun's rays was drowned by a dim cloud of looming death. The tall tan grass that was the Pelennor was soaked with the dead bodies of fallen forces, both good and ill. Iron clad warriors with the White Tree lay lifeless along with the evil vermin spawn of Sauron. Their banners of the Eye stood out clear in the thick swells of smoke and ash that rose in the sky like a deadly poison. The shrill callings of horses pierced the night and green flashes were seen everywhere. And yet standing out from all this chaos was the same black robed figure._

_His steed was no horse, Warg, or even one of the Mumakil that stomped viciously and called out in their blood rages. But a great winged beast that was bare with spines along his backbone. And yet as intimidating this beast was it was dead. The bloody stump that was once connected to a dragonish head lay bleeding its fluids freely across the already scarlet glazed ground. "Thou fool," the fell entity hissed. His voice was hallow, mirthless, and all emotion was absent. His giant iron mace was gripped in a mighty mail clad hand. "No man can hinder me," he said. _

_Before this creature of the Eye stood a solitary, lean and somewhat undersized solider. He held little to no muscle mass and might have well been a mere lad. Blue eyes flashed from beneath his helm and the sound of metal was heard as a sword wad drawn from its sheath. The solider took a battle stance of imminent death against this fell entity. _

_For the first time Faramir became aware of himself in the middle of this battle field. He was bloodied, weak and arrow stricken. He screamed at this warrior to stop and not die so foolishly in the battle field. Slowly he strode forth to the lone solider in a desperate attempt. His strength was hastily waning and he knew that he would not reach his destination, which was currently dodging the blows from the iron mace. The creature wailed in anger and Faramir felt like his ear drums would explode from the shrill hollow and downright evil cry. Faramir felt the free flow of his crimson fluids but that did not detour him from his goal. He knew not what force was pulling him to save this underfeed soldier's life, but the drive was strong and he could not resist. _

Just a bit further, _Faramir consoles himself as the two figures become closer and more acute. Yet in concurrence to his progress, the dark creature began taking his toll on the brave but fool some warrior. The cold metallic stick of his own blood breaches through his mail and drips unrelenting on the ground but still he walked on. His head began to wobble and eyes move in and out of focus. Before Faramir knew it, his knees had buckled and he met the ground with a THUD. "No," he moaned in pain. _

_Before his eyes the two brawling figures had slowed to a halt. The heavy breathing of the young solider was labored and clearly heard above all the other screams of pain from Knights, Rohirrim, Orcs, Haradrim and Mumakil alike. And in a flash, the Eye's foulest servant drew forth a blade and separated the brave fool's head from their shoulders. Faramir tried to scream at the sight, but his own voice was extinguished with the gushes of scarlet that came from his abdomen. As the head flew further from its body, the creature hissed in victory and went on to his next killing, an old man pinned beneath a stark white horse. With another THUD, the severed part landed helmless next to Faramir and he saw the face of the dead solider. It was perfectly rounded with blue eyes and long golden locks of hair. _

_Bile rose in Faramir's throat as he realized who the brave fighter was. Tears rimmed his eyes as he passed out on the red streaked ground next to what was once the Lady Eowyn—a Shieldmaiden in life and death. _

_/ END dream/_

The dream deeply disturbed Faramir and he awoke from his bed in a cold sweat. Was it was a premonition? Or was it of the nature of his dream of the Great Wave and green country (a/n: If you don't know what I mean, e-mail me and I'll tell you). Would Eowyn meet her death as a warrior for the country and free realm she so cherished? Faramir scowled at the china plate below him. However his thoughts did not get a chance to become deep rooted for the call of his father's voice roused him back to reality. "Today, Théoden-king of the Riddermark and I will begin to take council and see if a favorable agreement on both parties can be reached," Denethor announced.

"We will take council after this morning meal, and alone," Théoden added. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible so he could return to his own borders with Eowyn intact and not in the fury of her brother's wrath that no doubt come to an official decision of betrothal.

Everyone around nodded and breakfast went along as if someone had pushed a 'silent' button. No one spoke to the other and only snide glances and crude gestures exchanged. The food was amazingly prepared and delicious. Wine was also served, which Eowyn felt somewhat odd. Her usual form of refreshment was the clean crisp water that was retrieved from Snowbourne. The meal ended quickly; Denethor and Théoden were the first to rise and exit to a small door to the left of the room. A small hoard of armor clad gaurds opened and closed the doors with a loud clamor. Eowyn guessed they were the Council Chambers. The sight of the stone faced gaurds greatly discouraged any eavesdropping, she noticed dimly.

Next the pair of brothers finished their goblets and left the way they came in. Theodred and Eomer were next to depart, leaving Eowyn alone to her thoughts. She still had a little wine left in her goblet, but decided against finishing. Her body did not tolerate alcohol well, no matter the form or potency, as Theodred loved to remind her and everyone else who would listen. Solemnly she rose from her seat and exited the room. She noticed out of the corner or her eyes the servants that scurried to clean up the mess her and her company had made. Eowyn felt a desire to help them, but knew that it would not be tolerated. Sighing she scanned her mind for activities to do to keep her from being consumed by boredom or worry.

Not really knowing her destination, Eowyn walked the long dimly lit corridors. Before she knew it, Eowyn found herself in the library of Minas Tirith. She knew not how she got there, save by taking random twists and turns throughout the labyrinth of halls. Shelves and shelves of books were scattered around in no particular order. Initially Eowyn had been looking for the stables, decided that a visit to Windrod would be in order, but quickly became lost and found in the library. Resolving to her surroundings, she surveyed the shelves. Many of the books were in foreign tongues, some she guessed to be Elven with their intricate runes. At the end of a shelf was a series of chairs. Seated in the unit nearest to her, Eowyn saw a strange looking man. He sat with his arms propped on his knees and a book in one hand. He had cropped black hair, hazel eyes, a chin of light black stubble, and a muscular build. The man looked to be middle aged, somewhere around 40 years of age.

He looked up at Eowyn, nodded his head in greeting and went back to his book. She nodded in response and resumed her search of the books. Soon she found one that appeared to show interest in horse lore and she picked it out, sat on the opposite end of the black-haired man and began to read. It was written in the Common Tongue so she had no trouble deciphering the written words. As it turned out, the book was on the linage and care of the noble steeds of Gondor. There were many ink illustrations on the dry, dust speckled parchment, but Eowyn found it interesting. She learned quickly of the strange methods that Gondor stable boys used on their four legged beasts. Many she knew of, but many of the methods had been corrected and perfected by her native horse lords.

She quickly lost track of time delving deeply into her book, but when a shadow was cast over the dried pages Eowyn lifted her head up to see the cause of the darkness. A woman with waist-length black hair woven into a long plait down her back stood there. She had green eyes, and a perfect slender body with curves in all the right places and a petite waist. She was very beautiful and obviously some sort of noble woman. The girl was around Eowyn's age, give or take a few years. For a fleeting moment Eowyn found herself jealous of the beauty in front of her, but she quickly cast it aside. "Who are you?" Eowyn asked.

The young woman smiled. "My name is Lothiriel. I was sent to show you around the city for today," her voice was sweet and melodic like a silver bell toned in spring. "Oh," was all that Eowyn could really say in reply, knowing she sounded and looked dumb in the presence of Lothiriel. "My father is Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Lord Denethor summoned my father and I to his magnificent White City for the official announcement of the treaty between Gondor and Rohan," the woman smiled.

Eowyn narrowed her eyes. "_Lord,_" she managed to say without cringing, "Denethor had already proclaimed the treaty fulfilled?" she asked keeping her temper in check as her hands shook with fury.

"Yes Lady. Is that not so," Lothiriel inquired.

"No, unless my uncle has announced my betrothal to those of Dol Amroth first instead of me," Eowyn hissed.

"Oh dear. I had no idea! You're the Lady Eowyn of Rohan? I did not know, or else I would have used my brain before my tongue went astray," Lothiriel apologized, bowing her beautiful head sincerely. "I did not it was you. My father just simply told me to show you around Minas Tirith. I am truly sorry," she finished.

Eowyn smiled kindly. She should have refrained from lashing out at Lothiriel, and save her energy for Denethor if fate every allowed her that chance. "Fret not. You did not know," Eowyn said. Lothiriel twisted her perfectly formed lips into a perfect smile. She was indeed the incarnate of beauty and perfection. Eowyn doubted if a lady could get any fairer, even of those akin to the elves.

"I am here to show you around the city, so where would you like to go?" Lothiriel asked gently, still keeping her sleek round features in a smile.

As if a light bulb went off above her head, Eowyn immediately perked up. "Can you show me the stables where the steeds of Rohan were housed?" she said quickly, putting aside her book. A visit to Windrod would be perfect in her current mood, and now she would not get lost in the labyrinth of mazes in the White City.

MXIXVIXIM

"Too slow little brother," Boromir crackled jokingly at his brother. Faramir may be more skilled in the study hall, but it was his brother who excelled in the sword ring, which was exactly where the pair was. A large stone courtyard rimmed with training equipment and hay targets, for bows, lined the area. Over head the sun was shining brightly and the sky a perfect pale blue. Faramir scowled as he nursed his cut thumb by gently suckling the leaking red fluid. He ignored its metallic taste, having to self-dress wounds far worse than this alone in the middle of the Ithilien moor. He dropped his sword to the stone floor, and silently cursed his inferior ability with a blade. Boromir approached his brother, "You alright?" he questioned. Faramir smiled and nodded in return, picking up his weapon.

Denethor had allotted none into his council chambers with Théoden-king. A pair of tower gaurds carefully patrolled the dining corridor that led to the chambers. The idea of a bribe for eavesdropping on their council had greatly appealed to both brothers, however they were quickly turned away as both of the tower gaurds gazed sternly at the pair, as if mentally sensing their plans. _'No,'_ Faramir had consoled his brother. '_If father found out he would be furious. I harbor little doubt that both those gaurds would jump at the opportunity to reveal our listening ears to father,'_ said he. Boromir had only grunted in response and suggested casually that they head off to the sword ring where they could vent their frustrations on each other. So far Boromir had done all the venting.

When they had ventured down to the ring, they were met by Eomer and Theodred who obviously shared the same sentiments as the brothers. In the middle of a sparring match, Faramir and Boromir studied their fighting style. The way of the swords to the Rohirrim were much more primal and broad, very much in contrast to the acute and articulate way of the Rangers and Knights of Gondor. It was fascinating to observe their round, which Eomer promptly won. It wasn't until Theodred had lowered his head in defeat that they took notice of the siblings. And so every other round they rotated so as to allow equal time for both parties.

As Faramir was disarmed by his brother, Theodred muttered to Eomer, "He shows no mercy that one". Eomer nodded and agreed in silence. There was no denying that Boromir was a formidable foe, and wished that he would not be his enemy in battle. The Third Marshall pitied the Mordor-vermin that would find themselves upon his blade. However the fighting manner of the elder differed greatly from his brother. Faramir was much more fluid in his motions, preferring subtle and indirect attacks whereas Boromir would always head straight for victory. The pair made a great match, but it was clear that the first son held more years of experience. "You fought well," Theodred congratulated the elder. Boromir nodded in thanks, and began to retire to the sidelines to make room for Theodred and Eomer. Faramir followed suite.

Just as the prince of Rohan, and Third Marshall were in the process of taking their stances, a soft decisively female voice laughed and said, "Your style is flawed".

"Eowyn," Theodred and Eomer said in unison. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on my way to the stables," she responded. Beside her, Lothiriel came into the frame and bowed before her lords, and foreign guests. As always, she moved with a fluid grace of a noblewoman and her manner was ladylike and proper.

"Lothiriel, I did not know you were here," Faramir said.

The black haired, fair skinned woman answered, "My father and I arrived ere the sun rose this morn. I was instructed to show Lady Eowyn around our splendid city. Of all places, why she wishes to visit the stables I do not know," she said in earnest. Faramir laughed silently. No doubt her wild stallion, Windrod, was missing his mistress and she him. It was odd how Eowyn was so connected to a horse, more so than to most people. And yet, oddly funny how Lothiriel knew so little of her customs.

"I daresay Windrod has been calling for you?" Eomer joked with his sister. Eowyn laughed in response and nodded. As she did, the Shieldmaiden of Rohan could not help but notice how Lothiriel was eyeing her brother. Her hazel eyes were locked on Eomer, and she seemed as though she could not draw them away.

For the first time Boromir spoke up, "What do you mean my style is flawed?" he demanded of Eowyn. How could she, a mere woman, know whether or not the blade in the hands of a man fell on ill strokes or not? No matter what her heritage is. Certainly the King of Meduseld did not allot women in the sword ring with the men.

For a fleeting moment, Eomer and Theodred met the other's gaze. _Why did Eowyn always get herself in trouble? Why? Could she not, for one day, hold her pride to her own thoughts_, Theodred mentally screamed. Eomer on the other hand looked smug at the fact that his sister had criticized the first son of the Steward. After all, it was by their own request that half the company of the Golden Hall be drawn to the White City at the possible prospect of a forced marriage treaty. It also helped that Eowyn was right. Eomer had noticed it as well. When Boromir would lunge at his opponent, more often than not he would jump from too great a distance allowing his enemy to jump back and escape the blow. It was nothing major, but a common mistake that was easily remedied. A smirk was glued to Eomer at the thought of Eowyn rectifying Boromir's fault.

"Do you not know the meaning of the word flawed?" Eowyn responded coldly, locking eyes with Boromir; violent grey spheres meeting with proud blue orbs.

"Eowyn—," Theodred tried to intervene, but was cut off by a sharp glance by Eomer.

"Then show me," Boromir challenged. He could not lose to this woman. She was just that—a woman.

With a great effort, Eowyn repressed her cold smirk that was beginning to bubble to the surface. At that, Eomer tossed his sister his sword. She caught it with little effort and made her way to the ring.

Faramir stood shocked, mouth agape. What did she think she was doing? Even he could only just defeat his brother, and that was only if the stars were aliened for his victory.

SVIXIXMXIXVS

END CHAPTER.

MUAHAHAHAHA, I am so mean. I love cliffies. Don't hate me. Please. Pretty please? Purdy please with sugar and a cherry on top?

Okay, you can hate me. XD

And to answer your questions, yes there will be Eomer/Lothiriel, in case you didn't get my hint.

Sorry this took longer than I anticipated updating. And I apologized for Eowyn's OOC nature. The next chapter will be better.

Remember, please, R&R. I will love you forever if you do.

_Elen sila lumenn' omtielvo _

Narya


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